


Reich der Stille

by Evie_Rai



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Arranged Marriage, Assassins & Hitmen, Ballroom Dancing, Cheating, Children of Characters, Conspiracy Theories, Developing Relationship, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Execution, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Government Conspiracy, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, Letters, Major Original Character(s), Murder, Mystery, Nazi Germany, Nazis, Older Man/Younger Woman, Original Character(s), Original Universe, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Post-World War II, Pregnancy, Prison Sex, Prisoner of War, Public Display of Affection, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Slow Romance, Teen Pregnancy, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 37
Words: 54,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evie_Rai/pseuds/Evie_Rai
Summary: September 1st 1939, Germany declared war on Poland. May 8th 1945, Germany defeats Europe, and the German Empire rises again.Born into the German Royal Household of Battenberg she knows nothing of the world before Germany’s most significant victory.Taught only of Germany’s greatness and that of its people, she quietly accepts the narrative sold.History is written by the victors, after all.So when a letter crosses her desk describing the world before the rise of the Third Reich, she finds herself enthralled to learn more.She knows that handling relics of the past is forbidden. Being caught with them is a promise of ending up in a concentration camp or receiving a visit from The Gestapo or the Einsatzgruppen. Still, she is enthralled by the mystery of the letter.Who wrote it, and why did they give it to her?Learning of a Europe that no longer exists is risky, but her curiousness slowly becomes an obsession she can’t let go of. She wants to know about the world left forgotten and forced to be erased by the man the German Empire worships like he is a God.Even if it means learning of the horrors committed by those who she believes are fair, kind and honest people.
Comments: 118
Kudos: 23





	1. Ignorance

* * *

_Prinzessin,_

_What I am about to tell you must stay within the boundaries of the ink it is written with._

_For your sake and for mine._

_For now at least it must stay between this letter, yourself and I until you know the depths of your ignorance._

_I am curious to see what you will do with this. If I can tempt you to look beyond what you have been told._

_If you will be another who sits in comfort and riches because you’re another coward too scared to speak or question or challenge everything you think you know._

_This world you have grown up in is not the world it was. It is darker and drenched in the blood of many._

_The silenced._

_The forgotten._

_The unknown._

_The unborn._

_Those who dared to rise against the evil of the men who have taken so much of us to the point where I am not even sure who we truly are anymore._

_A whole world existed before The Third Reich and the Empire built on the ashes and bones of the defeated, repressed, silenced souls of the people who no longer exist in the world or in the books that document our progress._

_Everything boasts of the might and prowess of the German Empire. Of how much it has created and done for the world we live. Most, if not all, stolen from the people who lived before this hellish state was built._

_Whole races, languages, cultures, religions and more have been disembodied. Taken from their homes and buried so deep that not even I could hope to recover them all._

_You, Prinzessin, who has lived in her ivory tower in the graces of being born pure German have no idea the blood that is on your hands. Your fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters and even your husbands. Your friends, and those you trust too._

_I thought about it, about your blissful silence and ignorance being caused due to being born during the years that saw our once troubled but beautiful world deconstructed and reconstructed in the Fuhrer’s image and that it allowed you to remain in your ignorance as an innocent._

_After all you were an infant. A small innocent child born unawares to the horrors of her people and the crimes they committed. That are still going on._

_How could you possibly be to blame for this, you must be wondering?_

_You’re not. Not truly. It is your ignorance to the suffering of the subjugated. To the people who have bled to keep you in your wealth and never knowing the world and its struggle and remaining silent and ignorant and accepting the lies you have been fed that makes you as guilty as those who perpetrated these crimes I speak of._

_How dare you stay so blissfully stupid while we mourn and suffer the loss of our past, our friends, our loved ones. The very things that made us who we are. Rather. Who we were._

_I can only hope this invokes something in you, even if only passing fancy, to look deeper and further than your predecessors of this letter._

_You stand on a platform. Elevated above so many of us. With a voice that will be heard when spoken, and listened to. You can be the daughter of the revolution we have all been waiting for._

_Will you be the voice of the silenced?_

_Or stay silent?_

_Sincerely,_

_The Forgotten._

_The Silenced._

_The Unknown._

_The Unborn._

* * *


	2. Distracted

* * *

Otto stepped on the hem of Augusta’s dress. Making her trip and close to falling over.  
  
_“You’re distracted today,”_ Otto questioned after Augusta shoved him off her new gown.   
  
Inspecting it for a footprint or staining, Augusta was satisfied it was not and so paid mind to Otto’s worrisome statement.  
  
_“You’re paying attention to my emotional state?”_ Augusta was almost flattered, and a hand pressed to her chest while she acted surprised that Otto cared.  
  
Otto stroked his closely shaved jaw. _“On the contrary, I am bored.”_ He let the hand fall to lay in the dip of Augusta’s back. _“I have mentioned you’re getting plump twice and you agreed.”_ He squeezed his fingers on Augusta’s side as if the emphasis on his cruel jibe. _“Not a single sharp retort or sarcastic smile in sight.”_ His dark eyes became narrower and more focused when he leaned in to look more closely at Augusta’s face.  
  
Augusta shoved Otto. This time with the palm of her hand to his face. The grip Otto held on her waist, keeping him safe and from going far. In return Otto licked the palm, causing her to squirm with a grimace and twist out of his hand with a kick to his shin.  
  
It wasn’t hard, but Otto was melodramatic that afternoon, and he whined like a puppy who had its tail stepped on, watery eyes to match.  
  
_“Pfft.”_ Augusta rolled her eyes and folded her arms, glimpsing around the fanciful gardens they were walking through. The flutter of the Swastika draped from the battlements of the castle catching her eye, made her think back to that morning.   
  
The letter left on the desk in her office was peculiar as it was fascinating. Speaking of a time before the rise of Germany’s Empire and the Third Reich. Of people forgotten and erased from the texts of history. How Augusta was ignorant for not knowing of the decades and centuries that came before her time.   
  
Permitted no time to fully decipher or digest the letter before Augusta was made to stow it away by taping it to the underside of a drawer in her desk, seeing the flutter of the flag returned her thoughts to it.   
  
Briefly.   
  
Otto’s previous mentioned plumpness was not without basis. Augusta was becoming shapelier with the onset of pregnancy that left her plagued with sickness at all hours. Striking whenever it saw fit or most inconvenient.   
  
Mouth filled with air, Augusta rubbed over the slow swelling skin. Soothing away the sickness and aches, waving away Otto’s concern when he asked if she needed to lay down, and she almost laughed over it.   
  
Otto showed more concern over Augusta and the baby than the actual father.   
  
Something which should not have come as any surprise in consideration for who the father was.   
  
Ludwig Von Trapp was not a caring or considerate man, and he was concerned only by himself. An egotistical narcissist, Ludwig showed the same enthusiasm over the news Augusta was expecting that a person would a squashed fly. None.   
  
Otto, who was younger than Ludwig by ten minutes, held a more favoured and likeable personality even when he had the misfortune of sharing a face with his twin brother.   
  
Augusta indeed married the wrong twin, but the choice was never honestly her own to make. Kicking up a fuss and throwing a tantrum over the man selected to be Augusta’s husband would achieve nothing more than a slap to the face and even more of a miserable marriage than she was in.   
  
Accepting it was better to keep Ludwig Von Trapp sweet and meet his demands rather than fight them, Augusta was over the moon when the Royal physician revealed she was with child.   
  
It meant Ludwig no longer touched Augusta and instead expended his insatiable energy on his numerous mistresses.   
  
Meeting many while attending the endless lunches and dinners, evening balls and afternoon soirées, Augusta was often approached by one woman or two who were ready to flaunt and laugh over their liaisons with Ludwig.   
  
It was more surprising when Augusta went a day without it occurring.   
  
God forbid if Augusta considered taking a lover for herself with the same careless recklessness that her husband did. Ludwig was not sparing upon anyone with his temper. Less so on Augusta.   
  
Which was why Augusta surveyed the gardens like a hawk when Otto’s hand slipped around her back again, testing her with a kiss to her cheek that should anyone see would consider politeness.   
  
Augusta knew better that it was an invitation to share Otto’s bed.   
  
_“Where is your brother today?”_ Needing to be sure of Ludwig’s schedule and whether there was a chance he could come home, she asked Otto softly about Ludwig’s whereabouts.   
  
Augusta’s smile became softly flirtatious when Otto whispered against the shell of her ear. _“He’s in Berlin for the week on business.”_ Trailing a single finger over the curve of her neck.   
  
Trusting Otto that Ludwig was gone for the week, Augusta brushed the sharpness of his stubble with her fingers, hushing back “Not here.” To remind him that there were eyes all over the castle who were paid to relay every single detail of Augusta’s day.   
  
Engaging Otto in their affair willingly and wantonly, Augusta could only ever indulge in him while away from the home shared with Ludwig.   
  
A detail Otto knew well when he husked the name of the hotel he was staying. Ludwig refused to let his brother stay. Even when Ludwig was at home.   
  
_“Eight pm?”_ Augusta breathed back, trying to subdue the excitement at the prospect of being taken to bed with love and adoration rather than as an object to sate Ludwig.   
  
Otto’s gaze was warm and half-lidded. _“Wear that...”_ he trailed away on his thoughts, biting his lip with a suggestive lift in his brow.   
  
Augusta angled away from him a little, observing Otto’s devious mirth that danced in his dark eyes, and she smiled a promise that she would wear the lingerie Otto wished for her to wear.   
  
While Augusta was fuller in the figure, she was still able to slip into the corset, suspender belt and stockings with little issue.   
  
_“I will see you tonight then, Prinzessin.”_ Otto kissed the back of Augusta‘s hand, eyes never wavering from hers. _“Don’t be late.”_ He mused, making the withdrawal of his hand intentionally slow, letting their fingers linger a while longer.   
  
Trying not to smile too much, Augusta bid Otto farewell with a provocative wink when he mouthed a sarcastically intended compliment to her.   
  
Watching Otto cross the well-kept gardens, Augusta touched her stomach with a tiny smile. There was no secret over the detail that Otto was not the father, but Augusta wished that it was from the very second she was confirmed with child. Augusta even told Otto that she wished the baby was his.   
  
Otto, much to Augusta’s chagrin, said it was her own fault for making him withdraw every single time.   
  
There was always safety regardless of whether Otto pulled out or not as it would be impossible to tell if the baby was Otto’s or Ludwig’s due to them being identical twins. Augusta only wished for it to be that way because she didn’t want any child she could bare to be raised in a lie over who their father was.   
  
Stroking her neck where Otto’s fingers touched, Augusta painted on a gracious and delicate smile when a maid called for her.   
  
_“What is it?”_ Augusta turned, being gentle and demure as expected when the maids crunching footsteps stopped at the edge of the path, and she bowed.   
  
The woman was one of the many maids Ludwig took to bed, and Augusta could tell by the wicked glint in the pretty young things eye that she believed her none the wiser about it.   
  
Pretty, slim, with a sizeable chest, the maid was quite a looker, and Augusta was far from displeased by her keeping Ludwig’s interest.   
  
_“Generalmajor Haines wife is here to see you.”_ The maid lifted her pretty eyes, the thick lashes fluttering. _“She is waiting in the first drawing-room for you.”_  
  
Not expecting a visit from Florence it was not unwelcome only a small surprise.   
  
_“Thank you.”_ Augusta smiled, crossing her fingers to create soft cupping of the barely visible swelling of her stomach. The maid’s rosebud lips twisted foul when her eyes fell on Augusta’s stomach. Were it not improper, Augusta would happily let the maid know that the only reason she was happy at carrying Ludwig’s child and flaunting it was because he had not touched Augusta since finding out. Not because Augusta was a happy wife who was pleased that she was about to fulfil her wifely duty.   
  
Augusta’s position was one only a deluded young girl who lacked self-esteem and self-respect would ever envy.   
  
_“Bring refreshments, please.”_ Augusta stepped back onto the path with poise and grace while she walked by.   
  
Taking afternoon tea with Florence would kill some time before Augusta would sneak out of the castle and head into the countryside to meet Otto at the roadside hotel he was staying that evening.   



	3. The First Buds of Spring

* * *

Florence’s smile was a ray of sunshine. A fresh, budding warmth that chased back the frostiness of the staff who surrounded Augusta. A woman who would forever be welcome in Augusta’s home.   
  
_“You are glowing.”_ Florence stood from the armchair and in a sweeping movement wrapped Augusta in a great hug.   
  
Sure it was purely makeup and not dealing with Ludwig for a day that left Augusta’s complexion warm and dewy, a laugh tumbled out when Florence’s own burgeoning stomach squashed Augusta’s.   
  
_“As are you.”_ Augusta returned the compliment, and there was a pang of envy for Florence’s natural beauty even while late into her third pregnancy.   
  
Hair the colour of burnt autumn leaves and eyes the deep greens found in the depths of the Black Forest, Florence was quite the beauty.   
  
_“Oh.”_ Florence let Augusta go with a small smile, one hand squeezing Augusta’s forearm. _“I think it must be the sleep.”_ She shrugged it off. _“I have been terribly sleepy this time.”_ Guiding them to sit on the couch, Florence slipped off her high heels with an enormous sigh of relief.   
  
Inspecting the imprinted semi-circle left behind on Florence’s feet with a short grimace, Augusta smiled when told she had the swollen feet to look forward to.   
  
“Oh, I am prepared,” Augusta assured while fluffing a paisley cushion that did not match the decor of the Gothic room. The stitching too bright for the dark colours of deep greens and dark stained wood that the place was drearily decorated in.   
  
Florence shuffled around, finding a more comfortable way to sit with her large stomach making it impossible for her to sit back in the couch without becoming stuck.   
  
Watching the double doors creak open and Ludwig’s most recent fascination walk in with a tray of tea and an arrangement of fresh fruits and sweetbreads, Augusta smiled gratitude before dismissing the maid.   
  
Florence turned a snarky eye on the woman in Augusta’s stead with an under breath _“Whore.”_ While cupping her stomach.   
  
Trying not to smile and pretending to peruse the assortment of foods when the maid turned a look on Florence the scowl the maid wore marred her pretty features for a second before they washed away and she swept out the room.   
  
Augusta slapped Florence’s knee with a small tut when she chuckled to herself.   
  
_“Please. What will that half-brained harlot say or do?”_ Florence shrugged, accepting the freshly poured tea Augusta handed over. _“The sooner she learns that she’s yet another passing fuck.”_ Florence raised her voice, quite aware that the maid was hovering outside the door and listening. _“The better.”_  
  
Eyes rolling, Augusta smiled behind the teacup. _“She’s one of about ten currently. I can only imagine what my husband has spouted to make her feel so special.”_ She laughed, somewhat tediously over witnessing another young girl somehow be charmed by Ludwig before her world came crashing down when he dismissed her.   
  
Florence placed the cup back upon the saucer with a sharp clip, her magnetic smile becoming a foul twist and Augusta shook away the speech she knew Florence was about to make.   
  
Shoulders sagging, Florence placed down the tea and laid a hand lightly over Augusta’s leg.   
  
_“How do you put up with it? Knowing that Ludwig dips into every single pond he admires his reflection in?_ ” Florence was angry over it again while Augusta quietly accepted Ludwig’s infidelity.   
  
There was no emotional attachment to Ludwig. No care. Fondness or love for the man Augusta cried misery throughout her wedding to.   
  
Augusta made no effort to be with Ludwig, and she never wanted to.   
  
_“I simply don’t care.”_ Augusta looked away when Florence gasped. _“I don’t like him. I prefer that he leaves me alone now.”_ She shrugged it away, sipping the tea. Appreciating the sweetness of the honey mixed in with the bitterness of the leaves.   
  
Augusta nearly ran joyously screaming from the bedroom the same night after telling Ludwig the news she was expecting when he called her disgusting and unattractive and not to share his bed again.   
  
Used to Ludwig’s harsh words it was the first time he called her unattractive, but Augusta took it as the greatest compliment from his vile mouth that she was no longer going to be subjected to his forceful demands for sexual intercourse.   
  
_“This pregnancy is a blessing because he won’t even come near me.”_ Augusta knew that she should not sound so happy about it, but she was.   
  
Florence never could understand it. Not when her own marriage was a warm, loving and happy one.   
  
Unlike Florence, who experienced the joy of a mutually evolving relationship, Augusta was signed away to her misery a week after her sixteenth birthday and suffered Ludwig ever since.   
  
Augusta only prayed that Ludwig’s disinterest lasted forever.   
  
Florence became pouty and watery-eyed. Sad for Augusta’s position. Augusta’s acceptance was simply from being worn down and tired of the continuous clashing with Ludwig, and that she would rather be as he wanted her to then endure his violent bursts ever again.   
  
The light in the dark was Otto.   
  
Being intimately involved with her brother-in-law allowed Augusta the much-needed respite and release of bodily tensions whenever they were able to meet.   
  
Knowing they were seeing each other that evening was the only reason Augusta was in a pleasant mood, and she checked the time, wanting to know how much longer it was until they would meet.   
  
There were a few hours left and Florence’s being there was a great convenience beyond her being a dear friend who’s company was always pleasantly kept.   
  
_“Am I here with good timing again?”_ Florence leaned over to whisper, a knowing smile on her lips. _“Want me to suggest we go out for dinner?”_ She cheekily teased, prodding Augusta’s cheek when she fought back a smile.   
  
Florence could never understand how Augusta put up with Ludwig’s numerous infidelities, but she accepted that Augusta found what she needed in Otto.   
  
Flicking away Florence’s finger Augusta turned a softly pleading eye on her, hoping she would help her that evening with slipping away.   
  
Florence wore a devious smile when she sat back. _“Well, then this is a fortunate meeting.”_ She held her stomach. _“I need a peer of the realms permission to name my newest babe after my grandfather.”_ There was a subtle frustration over needing to ask such a favour to name her child. _“Will you?”_   
  
The Empire held strict regulations over the naming of children. If they were not deemed German enough or lacked the paperwork approval like the one Florence was again seeking from Augusta the child was forcibly renamed by the local authority.   
  
Augusta thought it was ridiculous how a name could not be considered German enough when Germany dominated the world with only one exception. Though the existence of this place that refused to be under German dominion was something of a rumour, a child’s fairy tale at most. It didn’t exist on any map or in any book.   
  
A fact Augusta never before questioned until the letter that arrived that morning.   
  
Was there a place that was not ruled by German authorities?   
  
_“Of course.”_ Augusta beckoned Florence to handover the necessary paperwork. _“What are you going to name him?”_ She was curious, after signing off the name decree for Florence’s first son, Patrick.   
  
Rummaging in her handbag, Florence handed over the papers of the decree with a small sigh. _“George.”_ She gave the name she wished to call her son while wagging a pen under Augusta’s nose.   
  
George was not a name Augusta ever came across before, and she almost laughed over how ridiculous it sounded.   
  
_“Was Patrick not named after Abbot’s father?”_ Augusta asked, twisting on the couch and moving the tea tray aside to lean on the table.   
  
Florence hummed quietly before agreeing. _“It was a nice memento and certainly beat the god awful names we would have to choose otherwise.”_ There was a solemn way in which she spoke that left Augusta curious.   
  
Florence was in her mid-thirties, born in the era before the rise of Germany’s Empire, so the history books told, but she spoke nothing of the world before Germany unified the world under its rule.   
  
No one in that age bracket did actually. There was a wall of silence from those who lived before Germany became the Empire it was today.   
  
All Augusta knew was that there were a few small islands that were not within Germany’s realms. They apparently begged to be united with Germany and become vessels of the Empire.   
  
The why’s behind it were a little murky in detail, however, but Augusta never found cause or reason to question it. Not until the letter that morning.   
  
_“Florence?”_ Augusta folded up the papers, holding on to them. _“What was the world like when you were growing up?”_   
  
Expecting a fond memory regaling of Florence’s youth, Augusta was not ready for the sudden paling that was not linked to a bout of sickness from her pregnancy.   
  
_“Floren—?!”_ Augusta made to check that she was well but stopped when Florence interrupted with a fearfully driven. _“Never ask me that again.”_ Before snatching the papers out of Augusta’s hands shoving her feet back into her shoes.   
  
Alarmed by the pure terrified response at being asked, Augusta sat in a small stupor and clueless what to do or say when Florence excused herself in a rush, fleeing the drawing-room.   
  
Left alone and in a frightful wonder over what Augusta possibly could have said that was so bad to get the reaction it did, Augusta barely heard the maid when she entered the room to announce there was a phone call.   
  
_“Your highness?”_ The maid pressed again, apparently oblivious to the sudden departure of Florence. _“Your husband is on the phone.”_ She repeated, pointing to the handset hidden on a small table in the corner by the window.   
  
Augusta grimaced openly at the news and the maid. _“Tell him I am busy.”_ She wafted a hand as if to brush the maid away.   
  
The maid curved a thick eyebrow and shook her head. _“You’re not though.”_ She argued back, and there was a sneer of a smile on her lips. _“He wishes to speak with you. So do it.”_ She snapped like she held the right to make orders.   
  
Taken aback, Augusta stopped a second short of laughing at the woman directly. _“No.”_ She stood from the couch. _“I will not.”_ Walking around towards the small table with the phone, Augusta picked it up and slammed it back down, ending the call.   
  
The maid gasped like Augusta made the greatest insult by hanging up on Ludwig, eyes like hazel and honey wide in alarm but anger too.   
  
_“I have no interest in listening to him because you told him you were called a whore.”_ Augusta shrugged with a brilliant smile. _“You are precisely what you were called and one of many in his repertoire. So don’t delude yourself that you’re unique or special.”_ Augusta approached the young maid, patting her shoulder in mocking comfort.   
  
_“He’s in bed with four other maids in this house, and I will happily share their names with you?”_ Augusta asked when the maid’s face twisted into disbelief, wanting to refute the claim Augusta made.   
  
_“Ingrid is one.”_ Augusta took back the hand and tapped the finger on her lips. _“Mila, Johanna and Klara.”_ She counted the names off on her fingers. _“That don’t include the others. Oh, there are so many others.”_ She rolled her eyes, head cocked when the maid swallowed back a tearful sob.   
  
Knowing well Ludwig would not call unless Augusta made an untoward comment towards one of his many lovers, Augusta shrugged without care at the young woman who was trying to hide that she was upset over the news that she was not the only one who was in Ludwig’s bed.   
  
_“Do yourself a favour you dull-witted girl.”_ Augusta was a short woman, but she stood with the poise like she was much taller when she clasped her hands at her front and peered at the young maid. _“Get yourself some self-respect and stop fucking a married man.”_ There was no kindness in the advice given, and Augusta didn’t care that her words sent the young woman running from the room in tears.   
  
There was no care over who Ludwig took to bed, but Augusta would not endure another brutal verbal tirade because one of his women got upset about being described accurately.   
  
Augusta did not want any mental distraction from thinking over Florence’s bizarre behaviour when asked about her youth.   
  
Did the letter hold some truths?   
  
Was Augusta an ignorant seventeen-year-old girl none the wiser to the truth behind the grand Empire Germany built?   
  
Drilling of the phone stole Augusta’s thoughts when it rang again, causing the receiver to rattle on the brass supports it sat on.  
Augusta expelled a huge sigh.   
  
Ludwig would only continue calling until he knew he was heard. Augusta did not have to listen, however. So she picked it up and checked first who was speaking.   
  
_“Hello.”_ Augusta twisted the wire around a finger and waited.   
  
Ludwig was smoking, his breathing more solemn than usual Augusta could hear the sneer on his mouth before he started speaking.   
  
Augusta did not stay to listen and set the receiver down on the table so Ludwig could shout and berate the table cloth.   
  
Were it not for the fact that Augusta would be the most obvious suspect she would happily slip something potent in Ludwig’s drink when he came back home.   
  
Ludwig was shouting loud enough that every vile and vicious word echoed from the speaker with clarity. Not even the crackle of the phone’s line dampened the vitriolic spewing that Ludwig threw down the phone for Augusta’s ears.   
  
Sitting down on the small chair beside the table, Augusta tipped the receiver over to dampen the noise and wait until it was over.   
  
Often Ludwig would hang up once he was done. Never the wiser that Augusta was not actually listening.   
  
Today was an exception it seemed when her name was repeated over and over like Ludwig finally cottoned on that she was not there to hear him.   
  
Picking it up and placing it to her ear Augusta flicked invisible lint from the skirt of her dress.   
  
_“Are you finished, dear?”_ Augusta was always a little braver with Ludwig when he was not actually physically there. _“Should I keep you on the line while I call the others whores so you can get it out your system?”_ She was enthusiastically sarcastic about it and tittered softly when Ludwig dragged in a sharp breath.   
  
_“Those hormones getting to your head, again?”_ Ludwig slewed like he was making the wittiest and nastiest insult ever.   
  
Augusta laughed back. _“Oh my love, is that truly the best you have?”_ She rolled her eyes dramatically and scoffed. _“My hormones might be what sees your collection of bedroom company sacked and sent to a camp if you want to continue?”_ Threatening to have Ludwig’s recent fancies sent away, Augusta smiled when he snarled back that he would handle Augusta and her hormones when he came home.   
  
_“Oh, your threats are old and boring, Wiggie.”_ Taunting him was unwise, and even more so with the nickname, he loathed.   
  
Ludwig was riled up by the use of the name and the inadequate cowed response to his temper tantrum. The threat and promise of being knocked about one that Augusta was painfully accustomed toward.   
  
_“You insufferable bitch.”_ Ludwig’s teeth were grit, and he hissed more than shouted.   
  
Augusta could hear the strain on the handset of the phone in Ludwig’s hand. How it creaked and groaned beneath the pressure of his grip.   
  
_“If I am so insufferable, then grant me a divorce and be done with me.”_ Augusta sighed, tired to the point of complete exhaustion over Ludwig’s treatment. _“It’s not like you care about your child or me. You only like the idea of having a young trophy wife that looks good on your arm when we have to be seen together.”_ It was the reality of their marriage.   
  
There was no love or care between them. They couldn’t stand each other.   
  
_“Like I would allow you that.”_ Ludwig chortled. _“I can do as I please and you’re stuck right where I want you.”_ He was deeply amused by the suggestion of granting Augusta a divorce. _“You seem to think you hold any value. You’re something to fuck and pop out a child. Maybe I need to be a little firmer in reminding you of that.”_  
  
Augusta might have been wishfully thinking that Ludwig would agree to divorce while he was so worked up. Until Ludwig reminded Augusta all that she was, was a plaything to him.   
  
Ludwig liked the power and control over Augusta by being her husband, and he was not about to let that go.   
  
_“I think about your brother whenever I have to lay beneath you, Ludwig.”_ Augusta knew it was the only thing that could get under Ludwig’s skin, and she so wanted to hear him squirm for once. _“I actually even gave him the pleasure of being my first on our wedding night, and I will be giving him the very same pleasure tonight in our bed.”_ Augusta wanted to pour as much salt in the wound of Ludwig’s only weakness.   
  
The inferiority complex Ludwig held with his twin brother was the only available exploitation Augusta held over him, and no matter how dire the consequences she wanted Ludwig to suffer a great deflation of his ego.   
  
_“I understand wholly why you feel small by comparison to him. You only match in height Wiggie.”_ Augusta lauded with a delightful tone. _“Everything you are pales in comparison to Otto. You can’t even last long enough to make me damp, and I am pouring when Otto’s slipping between my thighs.”_ Becoming crude in detail, Augusta could hear Ludwig’s breaths quicken and become shorter.   
  
_“Did you really think you were the only one who shared their bed with others?”_ Augusta shook her head and began tutting mockingly. _“Oh, you sad, sad little boy.”_  
  
Goading Ludwig was unwise, and Augusta knew when the week was up, and Ludwig came home that she would be in for a whole world of pain.   
  
For some reason, Augusta lost all care. Augusta had enough. Was tired of suffering Ludwig’s foul tempers and violent moods.   
  
_“Nothing to say now?”_ Augusta queried with boredom. _“Typical. You’re all piss and vinegar while you think you have the upper hand. Then you become a miserable sack of wasted breath when you are faced with someone who can trump you.”_  
  
Ludwig’s teeth were gnashing and grinding, and Augusta knew it would take only a little further push, and he would take out his anger on the things around him, the people close by.   
  
_“Well, I am off to have the most thrilling fuck of my life with your brother, my dear.”_ Augusta injected great enthusiasm into her mouth. _“He asked me to dress up in my saucy little number. So I need time to prepare. Take care, love.”_ She started to place the phone down, and from it, she could hear Ludwig exploding into a rage barely seconds after she finished speaking.   
  
Augusta had started shaking the second she told Ludwig about the ongoing affair with Otto, and they didn’t stop when she put the phone down.   
  
Augusta knew Otto would not mind that Ludwig knew about them. It was only ever for Augusta’s sake; he didn’t flaunt the detail to his brother.   
  
Now it was out in the open Augusta couldn’t stop the fearful shaking. The choking breaths that left her faint and weak in the knees.   
  
Acting stupidly bold and brazen with Ludwig was going to be a hellish storm to brace when he returned home.   
  
Which was why Augusta picked the phone up again, stabbing each number and turning the dial almost in desperation for the call to be made and answered.   
  
The drone of the dial tone was blessedly short, and the man who answered was the safest thing Augusta ever heard.   
  
_“Dad?”_ Augusta whispered. _“I need your help.”_ She tried not to cry down the phone, but she couldn’t stop it when her father soothed back. _“Kleiner Vogel. You never need to ask for my help, you will always have it.”_  



	4. Mottled Skin

* * *

Other than Otto, no one witnessed the marks left on her by Ludwig. Not until Augusta called her father and asked for his help.   
  
Ludwig Von Trapp was no fool to bruise Augusta in places where it would be visible. Only once did Ludwig try and strangle Augusta to the point of unconsciousness and she hid it with a prettily bowed neck scarf.   
  
Why this time was any different than before when Ludwig would berate Augusta overacting up or embarrassing him in front of his many mistresses, she could not say.   
  
All that Augusta knew with definitive mind was that she had enough of being Ludwig's personal stress relief.   
  
Augusta wanted out of her marriage and out of the home that became a prison in the fourteen months she lived there.   
  
Filing for divorce under the empire was nigh on impossible. Marriage was clandestine. A partner chose due to health, wealth and the likelihood of children it was never about love or compatibility.   
  
A woman was expected to look pretty on her husband's arm. Wait on him hand and foot. Give him sex like it was on tap. And children.   
  
If they learned to like each other in the process, it was merely a by-product of the marriage.   
  
There were a select few who were married by choice - like Florence. Though they were ever so rare.   
  
So for Augusta's chance to be permitted divorce on the grounds of domestic violence meant she would have to stand before a board of men and show them the bruises both old and new.   
  
Augusta's birthright as Prinzessin did not permit or allow special treatment and she was subjected to the humiliating ordeal without a promise that the speedy divorce would be granted.   
  
Germany's empire was magnificently flawed in the treatment of its women. That even holding a position of high birth truly meant nothing.   
  
_"How long does this take?"_ Richard paced the hall outside the examination room, fingers curling and flexing in his frustration. Augusta was equally as frustrated as she was anxious. If Ludwig found out that Augusta attempted a decree nisi in his absence and that it was unsuccessful, she would be forced to return home to him.   
  
A daunting and terrifying thing to think about in consideration of their very last exchange of words.   
  
Augusta and her unborn baby's life depended on the verdict of two officers of the Schutzstaffel, a doctor and an officer of the Gestapo. All men. All who thought very little of the safety and sanctity of a woman.   
  
If the person who wrote the letter to Augusta that morning thought she lived in an ivory tower, then they had no idea of the prison she was bound to a little over a year ago.   
  
Sitting on a cold hard bench outside the doors of the room that held the fate of Augusta's future in its hands, she tried not to become irrational in her thinking it the divorce was denied.   
  
Legs twitching and jittering up and down, Augusta ran her hands over the dress, trying to smooth out the creases and stay focused on anything other than the increasing dread that she would be taken back to the castle shared with Ludwig.   
  
Augusta was not a holy woman, but she prayed that if there were a God, he would show her mercy when the doors of the examination room opened.   
  
_"Mrs Von Trapp, your highness."_ The man, the officer of the Gestapo, addressed Augusta by her married name as it held higher authority over her title. _"We have come to a decision based on continued adultery by your husband and on the grounds of domestic battery with a threat to life that you're to be awarded a divorce with immediate effect._ " The officer stood tall and with both hands on the base of his back, a monotone drawl announcing the news. _"Half of the Von Trapp estate shall be granted to you on the birth of your child and for the proceeding, eighteen years maintenance is to be paid at exactly three hundred reichspfennig a week."_ He snapped his heels together, and his arm extended into a straight and sharp salute. _"Mein Fuhrer."_  
  
Stunned by the rapid outcome and how much of it weighted in Augusta's favour she was slow to return the salute, her voice but a whisper next to her fathers almost joyous shout.  
  
Augusta didn't even need to think to know that Ludwig would be furious over the outcome. Three hundred Reichspfennig a week was over half his weekly wages. It would cripple his lavish lifestyle within a month.   
  
_"You're expected to attend another marriage selection as of next week."_ The Gestapo officer stated the clause of the divorce. _"They will know of your expecting arrival and that your divorce was on the grounds of adulterous behaviours of your husband."_ His arm was still up in the air when he detailed that Augusta was to be matched and wedded within the week. _"That will be all. Good day."_ His arm snapped back down, and he passed through the door which he came, leaving the hall in a strange vacuum of silence.   
  
Augusta almost ripped her finger in her want to take off the rings that marked her as Ludwig's wife. Tossing them like confetti down the hallway, Augusta didn't even care about the prospect of a new husband right then. Augusta was free of Ludwig.   
  
Richard didn't show quite the same enthusiasm to the news of a newer marriage for Augusta, but he was equally satisfied that she was not bound to Ludwig a second longer.   
  
_"Oh, God!"_ Augusta cried, her joy at being freed coming out in a rush of tears and laughter, her whole body trembled. _"Oh, my God!"_ She whispered when her father warned her not to shout the lords' name in vain.   
  
It was enough to be fined. Worse. Arrested.   
  
Right then and there Augusta couldn't think beyond anything else other than she was no longer trapped in a violent marriage, and she practically jumped on her father to hug him. To thank him for persuading her to go through with the application of a decree nisi.   
  
He hugged her both tightly but also with care of her delicate position. Patting her back and placing a kiss in her hair.   
  
Surely no man chosen to be her husband could be any worse than Ludwig. Right?


	5. A Curious Man

* * *

_“I have spent the last decade acting an incompetent drunk to avoid this very scenario.”_ Jonathan Kilverney stood on his doorstep with a severe scowl, hands on hips while damning Augusta to hell with his eyes.   
  
Promised that another suitor would be assigned within the week, Augusta was dropped off at a house on a quiet Berlin street a minute shy of 9am with only a name for the man she was to cohabitate with.   
  
No prior meetings. No chance to back out. Augusta knew that the assigned guard of two officers in the Schutzstaffel was sitting in the car and watching. Waiting to see if Augusta would run.   
  
Many women tried to run. Most ended up captured. Far too many were shot.   
  
_“I—?“_ Augusta didn’t know what to tell Jonathan when he looked so annoyed by her being at his door. It was awkward enough to be forced to live with a perfect stranger.   
  
_“How old are you?”_ Jonathan asked, taking his hands off his hips and cupping them around the flame struck to light a cigarette.   
  
Augusta thought no man could be worse than Ludwig. Now Augusta wasn’t so sure that was a true thought. The man indeed held a temper. Though it seemed to stem from a place of agitation than actual anger.   
  
_“Seventeen.”_ Augusta choked out her age, waving a hand when the bitter wafting of cigarette smoke drifted into her face.   
  
The cigarette spat from Jonathan’s lips when he spluttered over Augusta’s age. Flicking away the burning cigarette, Augusta pouted after her surprise ended and she took notice of the burn mark on her dress.   
  
_“Jesus fucking Christ!”_ Jonathan smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. _“I am practically old enough to be your father!”_ He cried, throwing out his other hand as if to emphasise his point.   
  
Glancing left and right, taking notice that many of the neighbours were watching the man host a meltdown on his doorstep, Augusta cupped her face and tried not to look at them when her skin warmed with the beginning of an embarrassed flush.   
  
_“I am not inclined to be sold off to a man almost twice my age either.”_ Augusta kept a low volume. _“But can you at least have your meltdown somewhere else?”_ She pleaded with a whimpering, not wanting to start her time living in the area as the local housewives gossip.   
  
Jonathan seemed to finally take notice he was creating a scene, and he waved at the spectators with a sarcastic but cheerful _“Good morning.”_  
  
Eyes closing with a stressed whimper, Augusta wanted to simply melt away like ice on a summers day. To be anywhere other than there while the man who was by paper her new husband, made a complete fool of himself.   
  
Augusta was starting to think his opening statement of acting an incompetent drunk to avoid being forced to marry was not an act.   
  
_“Can you not?”_ Augusta snapped a hand over Jonathan’s waving hand, bringing it down.   
  
Shaking off the contact almost immediately, Jonathan’s lips hiked into a sarcastic grin. _“They’re not looking any more.”_ He pointed up and down the street. _“Give it an hour, and your chaperones will be gone too.”_ He looked over Augusta’s head to the car waiting on the curb.   
  
Augusta glanced back displaying a meek smile at the boredom of the two men who drove her halfway across the country to the Capital city. They were impatiently waiting for Augusta to be let in so they could leave.   
  
_“They won’t go until I am off this doorstep.”_ Augusta faced Jonathon with a sharp eye. _“I don’t want this any more than you do, but let’s not drag this out any longer. Please?”_ Being left on the doorstep like an unwanted visitor was an excruciatingly painful humiliation.   
  
Jonathan stepped back and with a sweep of his arms, finally invited Augusta inside with a muttered: _“Welcome home love.”_  
  
Forced to turn a little to be able to slip by Jonathan as he partially blocked the door and the corridor behind was narrow, Augusta’s foot caught on something, and she tripped.   
  
Overly cautious and not wanting to land on her stomach, Augusta managed to catch herself on her hands and knees. The rough thump of hitting the old wooden flooring creating a fresh coat of morning sickness.   
  
Worried for a spell that she would be sick, Augusta stayed where she was while drawing slow and deep breaths. Trying to settle down the onset of nausea and stress by the breathing exercises advised by the physician.   
  
_“You’re buggered up.”_ Jonathan closed the door with a need to fight it into the joint. _“Aren’t you?”_ He asked with a heavily grieved sigh.   
  
_“If by buggered up, you mean pregnant?”_ Augusta spoke tersely. The man almost on a level of insufferable as her now ex-husband. _“Then, yes. I am buggered up.”_ The want to be sick washed away by the infuriating way Jonathan asked if she was with child.   
  
A hand closed carefully around Augusta’s forearm, a second placed in the middle of her back, Jonathan helped Augusta back on her feet.   
  
_“Great,”_ Jonathan grumbled. _“A spouse who is almost half my age. Hormonal. And carrying the seed of Lucifer Von Trapp of all people.”_ He took his hands away from Augusta. _“How splendid a morning this has not turned out to be.”_ He slid his back across the wall to get past her, and he padded away with an obvious stomp to the door at the far end of the hall.   
  
Stopping outside the door, Jonathan pointed at it. _“This.”_ He tapped the barely standing wood with his knuckles. _“Is my room. You don’t come near it. Knock. Become curious or sneak about anywhere near this door.”_ Jonathan lost his last touches of sarcasm, and he was intensely serious. _“Go bother the cobwebs and swing off a chandelier somewhere for all I care.”_ He grabbed the brass knob. _“All I ask is you stay the fuck out of my way, your royal highness.”_ It came out with a tinge of bitterness and anger, and then, Jonathan was gone from the corridor and hidden behind the slam of the door he told Augusta never to go near.   
  
Terribly confused by the irksome man who she was stuck with for a new husband, Augusta at least was grateful that he showed her as much interest as she did him.   
  
None.   
  
They were to cohabitate, and that was all like a pair of housemates who happened to have no interest to know each other or even be friendly. Augusta liked how that life sounded. To be left in peace and to her own devices.   
  
With nothing left to do beyond figuring out the layout of the house and where she was supposed to sleep, Augusta touched the small swelling of her stomach.   
  
If there was any snippet of joy to be found in the misery of the last year and a bit, it was that of her unborn child.   
  
Augusta would forever loathe the father but not the small gift of life she was carrying.   
  
Taking a step towards the first door on the left of the narrow hallway, Augusta finally noticed how decayed the place was.   
  
Wallpaper browned from age and peeling, the doors were weathered and thin. The panels sporting cracks and the pipes in the walls groaned like dying beasts.   
  
There were no personal effects. No pictures on the walls. Not even a coat hook beside the door.   
  
It literally looked from first glance like a place merely to put ones head down. Not a home.   



	6. Under Over

* * *

The house was narrow. Rickety. One sneeze away from caving in on itself.   
  
There was no love or care taken of the home, yet it was not unclean exactly. Mostly chaotic.  
  
Finding a barely furnished living room behind the first door opened, Augusta was surprised to find that an old upturned milk crate acted in place of a chair. Windows covered by moth bitten drapes and yellowed nets. There was a musky scent of burnt paper, and she found its source in a blackened fireplace. The decorative tiles that surrounded it smoked black.   
  
  
Every board creaked and groaned beneath Augusta's feet, and she feared they would give up and snap if she stood in one place too long.   
  
It was no better behind the second door Augusta had to rattle the knob and give a kick for it to release from the jamb.   
  
Augusta found the kitchen.   
  
Beyond a stove and a few cupboards. One missing its door. There was nothing else that would clue a person in that the room was supposed to be a kitchen.   
  
No table or chairs. Not even a kettle on the stove or a refrigerator. It was a skeleton of a kitchen at best.   
  
_"How...?"_ Augusta started to ask herself how this man ever lived, and she paused to scratch her forehead while attempting to fathom it out.   
  
Beyond Jonathan's name and age, Augusta was told nothing of the man selected to be her new spouse.   
  
Not his job. Where Jonathan was born. Nothing. Augusta knew zilch about the man, and she started to suspect she never would.   
  
Crossing one arm while a hand cupped her chin in thought, Augusta dreaded to think what the sleeping arrangements would be if the two rooms she witnessed were anything to go by.   
  
Augusta certainly could not live like this and not because she was used to castles and large estates, but purely because she liked the elementary comforts of life.   
  
Augusta wanted a home, not a house. A place that was her very own sanctuary, not a prison.   
  
All the money and riches and beautiful things could not make a home. All it managed was to make the house look a little prettier and the pillows comfier to cry into.   
  
Augusta retreated from the would-be kitchen but left the door ajar. Ahead was a set of stairs that looked a sorry sight. The banister missing most of its spindles the second step-up was lopsided and squashed, the curved edge spewing a few splinters.   
  
The place indeed was in a worse for wear state. Like it had seen war and never recovered.   
  
Augusta was left with only the stairs, and what lay above to inspect and the door Jonathan Kilverney warned not to approach or open or anything else like it.   
  
Augusta was only curious about the room hidden behind after Jonathan told her never to enter it. Though interested or not, Augusta knew that she had to respect his privacy and that it was Jonathan's house.   
  
_"Stairs it is then."_ Augusta shrugged. Disguising her misfortune with exploring the place she was going to likely spend her days until she passed away. It was not an encouraging thought.   
  
Sticking close to the wall and avoiding the banister altogether. Augusta took every step with care until she reached the darkness of the second hallway.   
  
The small window at the end covered by a small curtain that was hanging on for dear life from the crooked curtain pole offering dismal lighting.   
  
Testing the wall for a switch, Augusta found one that was thin with a small ball-like nub on end. She flicked it.   
  
A bulb fizzled into life and poured as much light over the small hallway as the window at the end did. Then with a pop, it gave up and threw the place back into darkness.   
  
_"I don't know what I expected."_ Augusta almost laughed to herself. There was promise at least that returning the house into some liveable order would be a pet project to occupy her boredom.   
  
Short-lived as the light was, Augusta had it long enough to spy two doors on the other side of the railing that ran off from the banister and another beside the small window at the end.   
  
Assuming one was a bathroom and the rest bedrooms, Augusta was in no hurry to discover the horror of their conditions, but she needed to know what she would be living with until she could arrange a few things; like a very long holiday in the wine valleys to the west of the Empire.   
  
Crossing herself and sending a silent prayer again to the skies that if there was a God, he would show mercy, Augusta checked the door beside the small window. Only to find herself holding the doorknob and witnessing in slow motion the door give up on life and come clean away from the jamb. It crashed against what looked to be a sink.  
  
Looking from the dark room to the rusted doorknob still gripped in hand, Augusta made a slow turn when the top step creaked, and she found Jonathan staring, his face illuminated by the lighter he held up beside it.  
  
_"You have been here for less than five minutes."_ Jonathan bared no emotion beyond pained boredom.  
  
Augusta lifted the doorknob a little higher. _"I barely touched it."_ She defended herself against the accusation not entirely spoken, that she was a menace.  
  
Jonathan blew out the lighter with a puff of air, and Augusta only felt the whip of the air when his hand snatched the handle. _"Look."_ He started to speak through the darkness they stood in. _"I have work to do. Can't you go somewhere else? Go shopping or whatever it is you Prinzessin's do in your spare time."_ He made it clear her presence was a nuisance. _"Stay in a hotel or something. You have the money for it."_ He added, raising his voice above the deep groaning of the staircase.  
  
All Augusta heard was a man who was whinier than even Ludwig.   
  
_"I will be monitored for the first few weeks."_ Augusta knew this because she barely scraped by with a fine after her wedding to Ludwig and she tried to run away. _"Otherwise I would check myself into a hotel."_ There was not even a second of doubt that her words were actual.   
  
The short groan of wood hinted that Jonathan paused on one step, teetering on its edge for a second. _"You can make yourself scarce for the day, though. Can't you?"_  
  
It wasn't a question at all and Augusta had no idea why he even bothered trying to dress it up as one.  
  
_"I would make myself scarce from here for an eternity if I could,"_ Augusta responded drily.  
  
Jonathan snorted. _"Give up the lap of luxury you live in?"_ He scoffed back. _"I ain't buying that for a second."_ A sharp bark of laughter that was cold and malicious struck back at Augusta's comment.  
  
_"Are you blind as well as dumb?"_ Augusta bit back. _"What luxury is this hovel you call a house?"_  
  
Augusta couldn't even stretch her imagination to make Jonathan's house seem charming in its antique-like quality.  
  
Jonathan snapped his fingers. _"One man's trash is another man's treasure."_  
  
Augusta's head went for a spin over Jonathan's angle and approach to his dilapidated home. _"This is a death trap. Not a treasure trove."_ Remarking on the poor state of the building, Augusta could only assume it held some sense of sentimental value to him.   
  
_"I don't need expensive sheets and luxurious paintings hanging on my walls to enjoy my life."_ Jonathan retorted in a monotone. _"I have to work for my living. Something I know must be an arduous task for one like yourself."_  
  
Augusta couldn't see Jonathan, but she held strong inclination that he was making some gesture to better articulate the insult and sarcastic delivery of his words.   
  
_"Maybe you should put the work where it is needed."_ Augusta crossed her arms. _"Into your dire personality, hm?"_ One shoulder lifted in a shrug as if it would better portray her stance.   
  
There was a long pause before Jonathan made even a movement let alone a word, and Augusta wondered if she hit a nerve with her degrading quip of his personality.   
  
_"Why would I change the habit of a lifetime?"_ He asked like it was sincere. _"I have no interest in being perceived as someone charming or approachable by the likes of a dog to a murderous regime that stripped away everything good from this world."_ There was gravel in his voice when it lowered to a husk. _"You're a cog in a machine oiled by the blood of men and women you have no idea even existed."_  
  
Every word was enunciated clearly and precise, and with every letter, an accent so strange and alien on Augusta's ears came through firmly in Jonathan's tenor.   
  
It misdirected Augusta's attention from the scathing inflammatory speech, and she couldn't think beyond it as she realised it was not the first time she heard someone speak with an off accent before.   
  
Not the same, but alike, Augusta knew that she was only young when it slipped over the person's speech and that they were terrified of it being heard by anyone else that they clapped their hands over their mouth when it happened.   
  
Augusta travelled from one side of the Empire to the next. Spent time among the people. No one though ever spoke with an accent like Jonathan Kilverney's.   
  
_"Where do you come from?"_ Augusta asked without thinking of its consequence.   
  
Anyone who was thirty or older would clam up or become anxious and agitated when asked about their origins. Avoid eye contact and show a sudden want to flee the room. Augusta witnessed it many times when she was younger and still living at home.   
  
No one would speak of the years before Augusta was born. Like it was the most incredible, darkest taboo.   
  
So it was a fantastic surprise that Jonathan replied with a calm minded _"Where I come from no longer exists in the way it did when I lived there."_ Before the deep groan of the steps silenced the single word, he uttered as he descended the staircase.   
  
Heart in a fierce pound over meeting someone who lacked the fear to speak of the years before she was born, Augusta tried to swallow the anxious excitement when it became a little too consuming.  
  
Could Jonathan Kilverney aid Augusta in finding the answers to the letter she was sent a week ago?  



	7. Little Talks

* * *

A carpenter, electrician and a plumber with a whole lot of hope that Kilverney would appreciate the time spent on turning his house from a death trap into a liveable space, Augusta stood in the refitted kitchen.  
  
Respecting that Kilverney would not like it should the room he told Augusta to stay out of being given a touch-up, she left it untouched. Chipped and cracked door with rusted handle included.  
  
With more money than Augusta held sense, it was for once spent on the necessities of life rather than the frivolous things.  
  
Being sure not to overstep too far in case Kilverney saw it as Augusta was treating him like a charity case, the refreshed decor was simple and straightforward in colours. Furnishings bought for convenience but comfort, Augusta almost wept when the new beds arrived, and she would no longer feel the stabbing of old springs in the paper-thin mattress.  
  
In the week since arriving, Augusta saw Kilverney only once, and that was on the very first day.  
  
Kilverney went out at all hours of the day and night and when he returned went straight to his room.  
  
Aware that Kilverney worked for the city police which handled the civil issues like theft, assaults and murder, Augusta came to assume that his workload was a hefty one. Kilverney never seemed to stop working. Though that was only another assumption. They did not cross paths for either to talk about his work.  
  
It was like living with a noisy ghost. A poltergeist who was oddly well behaved and had some house manners. Augusta only ever heard Kilverney. She never saw him.  
  
Though Augusta suspected Kilverney would have something to say when he returned to find, his house had a complete makeover. The front garden included. No longer was the parched ground surrounded by a flaking iron fence that was missing a few rods, but replaced with a simple wooden one and gate that did not scream like it was dying every time it was opened.  
  
The windows and their aching panes were replaced along with the front door and the completely gimmicky lock.   
  
Augusta gutted almost everything except the one room Kilverney told her never to go near.   
  
It created a pooling curiosity in Augusta. A scratch that needed to be itched by finding out what lay hidden behind the door and why Kilverney stressed that Augusta never entered.   
  
Able to behave and resist for the week while she arranged for the work to be done within a day, Augusta continued to try and be good and abide by the straightforward house rule she was given.   
  
Ignoring the impulse to sneak into the room, and with knowing that Kilverney’s schedule was as chaotic as his home once was, Augusta distracted herself by being a little more homely. Placing into practice her cooking skills that were left to gather dust while she waited on hand and foot when married to Ludwig.   
  
The room finally equipped to be what it was supposed to be, Augusta had filled the cupboards with the basics and a few other things. Without speaking to Kilverney, there was no insight into what items he ate or disliked, so Augusta was left at the mercy of guessing.   
  
Most men enjoyed their meat, and it was with that in mind that Augusta decided to make birnen, Bohnen und speck. A dish usually eaten during the later part of summer into early autumn. Preparing the cooking pears, bacon while the broth came to a simmer, Augusta was left a little stumped whether to side it with potatoes or kloben.   
  
Both perhaps?   
  
Coring the cooking pears while seasoning the base broth with summer savoury, thyme, parsley, salt and pepper, Augusta started to hum to herself when the rattle of the lock on the front door became slamming and stomping steps.   
  
Augusta thought ahead when changing the locks not to leave Kilverney locked out of his own home, and so dropped a key at the front desk of the only police station in Berlin.   
  
Augusta received quite the odd look from the desk clerk when she asked the key to be handed to Kilverney as soon as possible.   
  
Guessing that he remained tight-lipped about his freshly arrived and unwanted teen bride, Augusta imagined Kilverney would never tell anyone unless he was forced to.   
  
Dropping the pears and bacon into the broth, Augusta wiped away the pear peelings a second shy of Kilverney’s arrival in the doorway.   
  
A finger held up like he was about to start ranting, Kilverney’s face was tired and worn, rugged and needing a shave, and he faltered in the start of his speech when he yawned.   
  
So Augusta overtook and decided to speak first.   
  
_“I made sure your room was not touched.”_ Augusta nodded past Kilverney’s shoulder to the only original thing left in the house. _“What was here is safely stored in the bedroom you use.”_ She walked around to the brand new sink, still ridiculously happy that she no longer needed to beat the taps to make it spit out water. _“Now would you prefer potatoes or kloben?”_  
  
Applying a distraction by asking a question, Augusta hoped it would lessen Kilverney’s apparent want to be angry at her complete gutting of his home.   
  
Even the brand new clock that ticked on the wall in the hallway seemed to hold its breath while it waited for Kilverney’s response.   
  
_“...I hate potatoes.”_ Was all Kilverney mumbled while scratching the back of his head, appearing a little confused how he went from a determined rant to speaking about food?   
  
Augusta wasted none of the time allowed by Kilverney’s confusion, and she prattled on in a hope to keep him talkative rather than angry.   
  
_“I suspect you will be leaving again before it is ready.”_ Augusta genuinely considered putting in a revolving door for how often he came in and out. _“So I will leave it on the side, you will only need to heat it through when you’re ready to eat.”_ She dried her hands on a tea towel before opening the cupboards to pull out the ingredients for the dumplings.   
  
Kilverney said nothing, but he finally stepped into the kitchen. Tapping the new floor, opening cupboards and testing the table would not collapse if he poked it.   
  
There were even brand new nets and blinds and curtains. A whole fortune spent to return the house to a condition of comfort, let alone safety.   
  
_“We have a kettle now.”_ Augusta nodded to the silver pot sitting on the range cooker. _“Refrigerator and freezer too.”_ They were hidden behind cupboard doors. _“A washing machine.”_ Augusta pointed towards the back of the room where the utility room was.   
  
Kilverney didn’t seem to be listening at all while he walked around the room. Checking absolutely everything.   
  
_“You know I am not allowed any of this.”_ Kilverney’s voice was a low, frustrated growl. _“That I could be arrested if found with it. Right?”_ He left alone a cabinet to throw a dirty eyed look at Augusta.   
  
_“I paid for your licenses.”_ Augusta knew she needed to tackle the subject with care. The class system of the Empire was as confusing as it was contradictory to its history. _“You don’t need to worry about that.”_  
  
The class system depended on purity. Though how it came about was a mystery and the purpose lost in meaning if, as the history books claimed, everyone was German.   
  
Kilverney’s place in the pecking order was the lowest as Augusta discovered when she attended the meeting at the council offices to apply for the work to be done on the house.   
  
Marked as a non-purity on the charter, Augusta needed to apply for everything from as trivial as Kilverney being able to use public transport to access to proper medical care.   
  
The licenses were only approved due to Augusta’s status as a pure German.   
  
Kilverney’s brow lifted like he was surprised, but the darkness in his eyes was shaded in pure irritation. Anger. A dash of humiliation.   
  
_“In the last seventeen years, Prinzessin.”_ Kilverney crept forward a step, slamming his hands down on the table, making the chairs rattle. _“I have never needed nor wanted the pity of a jumped-up, prissy little bitch.”_ Again his accent thickened his voice, somehow making it harsher even with the gentle lilting. _“And I don’t want it now.”_  
  
Were it not for the matter Augusta was prepared for some form of backlash. Picking up from their first and only conversation that Kilverney disliked Augusta and the lap of fortune she was born into, she would be upset by his verbal lashing.   
  
_“With the application of your licenses, I can buy a second home and be out of your hair.”_ Augusta tossed down the tea towel, flicking back her hair with a purposeful pomposity.   
  
_“Don’t think for a second I have wasted my money to help you. I have my own agenda, and I refuse to live in your pigsty until I can move out.”_ She leaned over, slapping away Kilverney’s hands from the table.   
  
_“I also need you to have a license to access a doctor,”_ she cupped her stomach. Reminding Kilverney that was pregnant. _“And the hospital.”_ She was shocked by how restrictive life was for a non-pure, even with her own status being at its highest.   
  
Kilverney’s face was twisted into a foul smile which was a little too toothy. Like he, in that very second, was proven right.   
  
_“Here, I thought you might have some humility and decency.”_ Kilverney’s shoulders lifted in the most exaggerated shrug Augusta ever saw. _“But no. As always with your kind, you think only of yourselves.”_ He made a harsh scoff at the end of his little speech.   
  
Giving Kilverney a dubious look, Augusta couldn’t tell which way to battle him. To be honest, in one breath was damning. To lie in the other was damning.   
  
_“Look. I know you don’t want me here, and I wish I could be elsewhere.”_ Augusta needed to find common ground with Kilverney in one way or another. _“I will be watched for a year or more to make sure I don’t runoff. Otherwise, I would have been gone, the second my personal escorts left.”_ It was true. Augusta wanted to head to the warmer coastal city of Trier, far away from where she was right then.   
  
_“This house was dangerous. For yourself let alone me, and I cannot sit back and let a fully grown man live like this while I have money that I don’t need to be wasted on things I don’t want.”_ She took a little breather but held up a hand to silence Kilverney when he seemed to be ready to argue back.   
  
_“So do me a favour and take your head out of your arse and stop blaming me for things beyond my control!”_ Augusta slapped both hands to her hips like it would somehow convey her message stronger.   
  
Kilverney rocked back on his heels, both hands stuffed deep in his trousers pockets he regarded Augusta with an odd smile as he said: _“You can cry now.”_  
  
Augusta’s breathing was wobbly, and her handle on her hormones wholly gone. She did want to cry. Not because she was upset or angry. She didn’t actually know why she wanted to cry beyond the fact she could feel the surge of tears coming like white water rapids to the edges of her eyes.   
  
_“It’s your hormones. I get it.”_ Kilverney’s mockery made it no better, and he continued to rock on his heels, bending a little at the waist to come forward with a smile. _“Your being honest is far better than trying to play this jaded old man at his own games.”_   
  
Augusta’s urge to cry evaporated with the shock of Kilverney’s open mocking. Like he knew if he pushed Augusta enough, she would speak more freely about the reasons behind her motivation to repair his home and apply for the licenses for even something so simple as owning a kettle.   
  
_“You—?!”_ Augusta started but was cut off when Kilverney’s hand covered her mouth, again he was stretched forward. A little further to reach Augusta over the table.   
  
Kilverney’s demeanour softened a fraction, and he made a small lift in his brow like he was checking she would not interrupt or speak when he took his hand away.   
  
Augusta conveyed as best she could that she would not speak over him.   
  
_“Look.”_ Kilverney started, taking away the hand only to draw out a chair and sit down with a heavy thump. _“My prejudices are not without good cause.”_ He rifled in his pockets for something. Stopping himself from speaking when he pulled each side of his fraying and patched suit jacket to check the inside pockets. There were dismally stitched together holes that littered the inside.   
  
_“I know you’re not to blame, but I am a bitter old man who loves nothing more than to get under the skin of you pure-blooded cretins when I know it won’t get me shot.”_ He chuckled to himself, though whether it was over his comment or that his index finger stabbed a fresh hole in his suit was not clear.   
  
_“I work endless hours just to be able to afford one or two meals. I can’t even buy new clothes.”_ He shrugged out the appalling jacket, shaking it to make it spew its contents on the freshly tiled floor.   
  
Keys. A battered and money starved wallet. A matchbook and a completely squashed packet of cigarettes and an old button fell out with a clatter and a thud from Kilverney’s jacket.   
  
_“Ah.”_ Kilverney’s face lit up when he spied the cigarettes and matchbook.   
  
Watching Kilverney’s struggle for his habit, hearing him explain vaguely why he was the way he was, let alone how little he would eat, Augusta felt her heart give birth to something she never thought she would feel towards the man.   
  
Guilt.   
  
Augusta felt guilty for having everything while Kilverney and thousands of others had nothing but the literal clothes on their back, and it left her with a sickness not related to her pregnancy.   
  
_“I get you meant well.”_ Kilverney resumed speaking, the cigarette held between his teeth while he tried to return his jacket to wearable order.   
  
_“What you fail to understand is how much of a kick in the balls this is. I have worked myself into the ground to have what little I have, and still, I have nothing.”_ He gave up with the jacket and tossed it away and into the hall with a muttered _“Mother fucker.”_ Before he took the cigarette out his mouth, using the cup of his hand to flick the ash.   
  
_“Then you show up on my doorstep, and suddenly I have everything?”_ He looked over again, and there was a depressing shade to his dark eyes, to the smile on his lips. _“It’s a bitter pill to swallow. That’s all.”_  
  
With a little more clarity Augusta could see how it must have looked from Kilverney’s perspective.   
  
Augusta only needed to flash a few coins and fill out paperwork, and she had everything that Kilverney worked hard for but could never have.   
  
All because Jonathan Kilverney was classed as non-pure. Whatever that truly meant.   
  
_“I never considered looking at it that way,”_ Augusta confessed softly, and it was true that she never did. _“I meant no disrespect.”_  
  
Kilverney shrugged. _“Why would you have? You have known no different.”_ He pointed out, but there was no resounding bitterness with it.   
  
Feeling a tad of a foolish girl for the way she went about things, Augusta rubbed one arm, facing away with a slight bow of her head.   
  
They came from two completely opposite worlds. Kilverney from one Augusta never even knew existed until the morning she was dropped on his doorstep.   
  
Was this what the writer of the letter meant by her ignorance?   
  
To not know of the supposed world that existed before her birth, but also of how many people lived due to a class system that made no sense?   
  
_“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Uan beag.”_ Kilverney’s accent was more potent when he spoke, and the final two words were utterly foreign to Augusta’s ears. _“You meant well, I know you did.”_ He again flicked the ash into his hand. _“You’re still naive and blissfully unaware of this world we are living.”_ He sighed loudly, slouching lower in the chair. _“And I am afraid you have been stitched up royally by your own kind with their pairing us together.”_  
  
Augusta looked back over at him with a curious eye, and she didn’t like how sympathetic his smile became.   
  
_“Women are second class. Lower even than my miserable status.”_ Kilverney’s tone was aggravated, like the subject, he was speaking about annoyed him frequently and considerably. _“You’re going to struggle to find friends around here. Not a single person on this road will speak kindly of you or to you for simply being my wife.”_ He shrugged, cocking his head before a short, humourless chuckle parted his lips.   
  
_“I have been a scourge on these people since I was forced into this hell trap I get to call home.”_ Kilverney’s whole demeanour became lighter and more amused by the description of how he was perceived. _“They hate my guts because my being here means this lovely little street can’t hold a pure status.”_  
  
Augusta, before going to the council offices, would have needed Kilverney to explain the importance of a ‘pure street’. Now, Augusta knew about it with alarming detail.   
  
Streets that held pure status were given tax relief on their utility bills and rent. An impure street made up for it by paying anything up to thrice the amount of their accounts. It kept the poor, poor, and the rich, rich.   
  
An abysmal practice that Augusta was none the wiser about until she became Kilverney’s wife.   
  
There was so much Augusta didn’t know before that she now did. This world was harsh and cruel upon those who were deemed to be worthless due to a stamp next to their name in a register.   
  
It was horrible. To be so blind to the suffering of so many while all Augusta had to complain about was, well, nothing.   
  
_“Fuck them.”_ Augusta declared with a shrug.   
  
Kilverney turned slowly in the chair, staring at Augusta like she was an odd new specimen on display in a zoo.   
  
_“Fuck them?”_ He repeated back with a grin. _“You make it seem so easy to let it slide.”_ He mused coldly, his eyes sharper upon her.   
  
After living with Ludwig for fourteen months, the low opinionated thoughts of a few insignificant people were nothing.   
  
_“It is. For me.”_ Augusta dropped her gaze to the floor. Trying to pretend all those months that not a single word out of Ludwig’s mouth did not cut away at her taught her to put on a smile. Even if it was only there to give the impression that nothing of what was said impacted her.   
  
Not wanting to think about it. About the year spent in the prison that was being Ludwig’s slave and personal stress relief. Augusta lifted her head only to find distraction in checking on the food left forgotten on the stove.   
  
Thankfully due to it being on low heat, it was not lost beyond hope.   
  
_“Dumplings.”_ Augusta reminded herself, turning to the counter where she left the ingredients. Happy to have cause and reason to depart the conversation. _“As I said before,”_ Augusta brushed back her hair, trying to hide the quivering of her hands by making them busy. _“I will leave it for you to heat up later.”_  
  
Augusta took a deep breath, cupping her stomach softly to remind herself to calm down, before looking for the mixing bowl in the cupboards.   
  
A search that was forcibly stopped when she turned and almost walked straight into Kilverney’s chest. He didn’t even make a sound when leaving the chair, let alone with his steps.  
  
Cigarette finished and the collection of ash no longer in his hand, Kilverney stood still like he was a statue even after Augusta walked right into him.   
  
There was an odd glimmer in his eyes. The soft creases that surrounded them were less defined than while they were speaking, he quirked the edges of his mouth into a sly smile.   
  
_“I’m home now for the day.”_ Kilverney started to roll up his sleeves. _“It’s been a while since I had a home-cooked meal.”_ He moved towards the sink to wash his hands, oddly merry in his way about it. _“Or even had company while I eat.”_ He shook the excess water from his hands and turned off the tap. _“So unless you wish otherwise. I will help you with dinner, and perhaps we can speak a little more while we eat?”_  
  
Heart still in a furious pound from the surprise, Augusta clutched her chest for all of a second until Kilverney explained his wishes to help her with the preparations for dinner.   
  
Augusta held no reason to refuse, and by the excited glitter in Kilverney’s eyes over the prospect, she didn’t want to take it away by being difficult without cause.   
  
_“Do you even know what you’re doing?”_ Augusta asked, pointing him to the cupboard where the mixing bowl and sieve were located.   
  
A little help in the kitchen would make for an excellent opening to better communication, and hopefully a chance to pry a little into Kilverney’s life in the years before she was born.   
  
_“I was never taught.”_ Kilverney’s response ended all illusion that Kilverney was about to surprise her. _“So I am placing my life in your hands that you have even a slither of a clue what we are doing.”_ He confessed, losing his head in the cupboard whilst he rifled about for the items Augusta needed.   
  
Eyes rolling back, Augusta sent a silent prayer for good luck before reaching over Kilverney’s shoulder to point out that the mixing bowl and sieve were beside his head in the cupboard.   
  
It was as Augusta withdrew from pointing to the bits they needed, that she noticed her other hand was on Kilverney’s shoulder for support. This time the contact not shaken off or treated like Augusta burned his skin.   
  
There was nothing significant about it beyond that it was allowed. Kilverney was not rigid or stiff beneath her palm, or even quick to shake her off.   
  
It was wishful thinking at most, but Augusta didn’t want to exist in a marriage where even friendship was not achievable. This was only a tiny, tiny step, but it felt positive.   
  
_“Here.”_ Kilverney waved the sieve about his head for Augusta to take, and she did with the tiniest smile when he withdrew a second after she stepped back with the mixing bowl hugged under his arm.   
  
Taking it and laying it down on the brand new wooden top counters before it could be dropped, Augusta started to talk him through how to make the kloben. His interest going back and forth from actually paying attention, to trying to make his own version.  
  
Kilverney only laughed more when Augusta became frustrated and coated in flour from his hapless culinary skills. His joy was far from catching and more irritating.   
  
Augusta didn’t notice that she was encompassed by Kilverney’s arms where he moved to stand at her back and lean over her until the bag of flour she was trying to fight out of his hands dropped with a powdery explosion at her feet.   
  
Lips drawn into a thin line, Augusta looked up at Kilverney at the exact moment he gazed down at her.   
  
_“Happy?”_ Augusta asked with all the sarcasm she could muster.   
  
Kilverney’s face was in a state of confusion, and it matched his response when he said: _“For some reason. Yes.”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not 100% sure if I have ever mentioned this before, but Kilverney is Irish. Born and raised in Cork (the rebel county) his being in Berlin currently? Is explained later. 
> 
> Also, to give an idea of how this German Empire exists. 
> 
> There are no other countries. They have all been renamed after German cities and towns. Berlin on its own is the literal size of Germany as it is now. 
> 
> Tier, mentioned in this chapter, is where Spain would be. 
> 
> The year is also 1962 - seventeen years after wwii ended. And Augusta (reader) was born in the final year of the war. So this is also an alternative sixties going on. 
> 
> The class system is based on their ancestry. They have to have German heritage on both sides for at least two generations to be classed as Pure German. And the ranks get worse the less German a person is. There are - yet to be mentioned - exceptions to this rule of course. 
> 
> Those who are not in those exceptions have to apply for licenses which are extremely costly to access even the simplest of things. Like as this chapter mentions, a kettle. 
> 
> Even gaining access to clothes etc requires a license (permit) to purchase. What they have access to depends where they fall in the class system. 
> 
> These don’t count as spoilers per se as they have already been very loosely referenced in the chapter 🤔
> 
> But there is a whole lot more than this to be elaborated upon 😏


	8. Apologies For Deaf Ears

* * *

More aware than before how harsh life was for anyone who fell beneath pure German status, Augusta tackled specific issues with tact.   
  
Being mindful that for however many years that no matter how hard Kilverney worked, there was little to no reward, Augusta spoke carefully with him about the threadbare condition of his clothing.   
  
They were rags at best held together by shoddy needlework and safety pins.   
  
Offering Kilverney chance to purchase more comfortable attire at first Augusta believed he would become upset again with her.   
  
_“One will be fine.”_ Kilverney turned left and right to inspect his reflection. The simple white shirt, black and grey waistcoat with matching grey trousers fitting like they were supposed to, it highlighted that he was not as scrawny as his previous clothes suggested.   
  
Augusta looked at the jacket draped over her arms that were one more wear away from death.   
  
_“You need at least three.”_ Augusta shook off Kilverney’s efforts to be humble. _“One to wear. One spare, and one to wash.”_ Recalling the old rule, Augusta turned to the shop attendee and paused.   
  
The tailors were not high end or remotely upmarket, but the man stood with a look like he was smelling the foulest thing while staring at Kilverney.   
  
_“Is there a problem?”_ Augusta inquired with a pleasant smile.   
  
The man turned to Augusta and gave her a head to toe inspection. _“You’re the problem.”_ He stated boldly, cocking his head with a silent declaration that he was daring her to speak up.   
  
_“Oh, I will be if you don’t learn the basic etiquette of human decency.”_ Augusta smiled back, taking out her hand from beneath the jacket draped over them. _“It would seem I failed to articulate clearly who it is you’re serving.”_ She offered her hand along with her citizenship card. _“Prinzessin Augusta. House of Battenberg,”_ she tapped a nail on the crest of arms on the left of her identification. _“You address me by Your Highness, thank you.”_  
  
Colour drained from the man’s face, and his stare was fretfully sweeping about the small dressing room, then with a deep bow, he stuttered. “Forgive my behaviour. I beg you.”   
  
Flicking back the identification and hiding it beneath the jacket again, Augusta found a small opportunity to make a point.   
  
_“Not nice to be looked down upon. To have your life in the hands of another,”_ Augusta glanced at the man’s name tag, he was of pure status. _“Is it?”_ She asked softly, losing the sharpness in her stare.   
  
The man’s brow furrowed profoundly, but he looked to be considering what Augusta asked.   
  
_“I don’t expect an answer.”_ Augusta could tell the attendee was thinking how to respond, _“Though perhaps you will think about how you acted today.”_ She motioned for him to stand straight. _“You might not be so lucky the next time you treat someone like they’re lower than you.”_  
  
The man indeed was lucky. Anyone else could have ordered his arrest or sent him for a spell in the camps.   
  
_“As you were.”_ Augusta murmured, waving away the man when his panic held a fierce and silencing grip over him.   
  
Returning focus to why they were there, Augusta found Kilverney standing with arms crossed, a finger tapping one arm, there was not a scowl or sharp-eyed stare, but a wary and confused intensity that held his face.   
  
_“Why did you do that?”_ Kilverney tilted his head, regarding Augusta closely, like he was prepping for a lengthy interrogation.   
  
_“Why?”_ Augusta asked in return, bemused by the need for clarification. _“There was no need for him to be rude or look at you the way he did.”_ She thought it was plainly obvious. _“I’m sorry if you think I have spoken out of turn, but regardless of position in life, it doesn’t determine whether you show courtesy or respect to someone.”_ She looked away and over the shelves and rails filled with suits and trousers and polished shoes.   
  
_“Acting like that is how a business loses custom.”_ Augusta was less inclined to make the purchase by the poor customer service alone. _“Now if you could stop staring at me like that I would appreciate it. I am not an odd specimen in a zoo.”_  
  
From the corner of her eye and for a second time, Kilverney was looking at Augusta like she was something never seen before.   
  
_“I think you’re missing the point that you actually are.”_ Kilverney relaxed his arms to reach a hand up and rub his neck. _“No one from your echelon would ever defend a man of my status.”_ He shrugged suddenly, breaking the tension that held his body stiffly.   
  
Augusta didn’t know whether to feel insulted or not. However, the chance to decide was taken when Augusta glimpsed the black collar that bore the hallmarks of the Schutzstaffel among the railings.   
  
Face hidden by the shelf the collar was visible beneath, the SS member was close enough that he could overhear with ease.   
  
_“Don’t mistake my intent. I merely refuse to be embarrassed by anyone knowing I am stuck with the likes of you as a spouse.”_ Augusta injected a venomous tongue to her critical lashing towards Kilverney, and she could not break the act the whole time the man in the SS uniform was there. _“Which is why I expect you to dress accordingly, though I would rather not have the expense.”_  
  
Augusta’s sudden switch was, of course, cause for insult for Kilverney, and his face displayed wilfully how he felt.   
  
Trying to communicate that it was not meant at all but an act, Augusta stroked her collar, patterning her fingers in the shape of the two sharp ‘S’s that the Schutzstaffel wore on their own collars. Praying that Kilverney would make sense of it and where she was looking.   
  
Ever since coming to Kilverney’s door, Augusta’s whole impression of the world she lived was shattered. Augusta never knew that she could face arrest if she was overheard or found to be showing favour to someone below her status. Worse. Kilverney could be placed before the dreaded Einsatzgruppen.  
  
In a panic that Kilverney did not grasp what was attempting to be silently spoken, Augusta couldn’t take her eyes from the man hiding away behind the shelf.  
  
The risk was even higher if Kilverney made a scathing statement in return, and Augusta could see it in his posture, the scalding heat of his state that he was about to.   
  
Augusta was in a bind unlike ever before, so she did the only thing she could to redirect all attention.   
  
She fainted.   
  
Letting her body fold like it was paper was difficult to do when she was as stiff as cardboard, but for both their sakes, she put all her dramatics into it.   
  
_“...The heck?!”_ Kilverney half-shouted, the stumble of his feet vibrating the floor he came down into a kneel beside her.   
  
Augusta purposely held her breathing, waiting for Kilverney to check it so that he was close enough for her to whisper against his ear _“There is a member of the SS listening.”_ In the tiniest of whispers possible.   
  
Kilverney looked at the single eye Augusta cracked open with a frown. Making it seem like he was checking Augusta over, fanning her face and being careful about his scoping of the shop floor, it seemed like he spotted what she did after a second.   
  
Kilverney’s jaw tensed but not enough that he couldn’t whisper _“Thank you.”_ While he slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, bringing her up to a half sit half slouching. There was a stark and honest fear in Kilverney’s eyes when he glimpsed the man in the dreaded uniform.   
  
_“Easy now.”_ Kilverney was ever so careful how he spoke, moved, even where his eyes were while he helped Augusta back on her feet. _“Are you alright, your highness?”_ There was no sarcasm this time. It was like Kilverney was an entirely different man.   
  
Augusta wished it wasn’t something she had to do, but she shook Kilverney’s hands away like he was dirty, and she pretended to wobble a little while moving to accept the stool offered by another attendant of the shop.   
  
Acting in such a way was horrible. Yet Augusta knew some people acted worse purely because they could.   
  
_“I am fine. It was only a dizzy spell.”_ Augusta tried to wave away the fussing of the attendee, all the while watching the slow departure of the SS officer who moved in a way like he did not want to be recognised.   
  
It was disconcerting.   
  
Wanting to be away from the outside world where everything was so very wrong, Augusta asked the attendee to charge the clothes to her account and have them ready as quickly as possible.   
  
Still clutching Kilverney’s old and tattered jacket, Augusta held onto it a little tighter when she was informed that a car was waiting to take her home.   
  
Augusta glanced over at Kilverney, and she disliked how he smiled back with a small _“I will see you at home.”_  
  
Kilverney was not permitted to enter a vehicle alongside Augusta until the licence was reviewed and accepted.   
  
Which meant Kilverney would have to walk back.   
  
It was so stupid. So ridiculously stupid. Yet there was nothing Augusta could do about it.   



	9. The Final Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sensitive topic forewarning. 
> 
> This chapter is also intentionally short.

* * *

Told. Promised. Assured that Ludwig would never be told where Augusta was became a dangerous lie.   
  
Laying in wait for the moment Augusta came home she was barely in the door before Ludwig was upon her and hand was around her neck.   
  
Ludwig Von Trapp was not a man capable of compassion, and it was never made more evident than the instant he kneed Augusta in the stomach. Over and over. Determinedly.   
  
Hallway so narrow that Augusta was held in place with the insufficient space to try and escape, the winding pain in her stomach and inability to draw an unobstructed breath left her completely defenceless.   
  
Scrambling and scratching at Ludwig’s hands, cheeks, clawing at anything Augusta could reach, the frantic desperation to be free of him became overshadowed by the faintness; with the white-hot fire started in her stomach.   
  
Losing awareness of most of her senses, Augusta couldn’t be confident if the hot rushed deluge running down her thighs was bleeding or a natural reaction to the lack of oxygen.   
  
Starting to become limp, unable to see beyond a blurry blustery face, Augusta’s arms fell exhausted to Ludwig’s wrists in some last-ditch effort for her life.   
  
_“If you thought I would pay a thing for that brat you were carrying?!”_ Ludwig laughed callously, forcing out what minuscule amount of air Augusta had left by driving another breath-stealing blow into her stomach, he seemed almost drunk in his viciousness. _“That I would forgive the humiliation you cast on my name. On me?!”_ He continued ranting like he wished Augusta’s final moments to be filled with blame.   
  
Ludwig Von Trapp could never accept fault in his own actions. It was always someone else’s. This time, it was Augusta’s, and she was about to pay the most incredible price.   
  
Tired and faint but able to feel every aching, stabbing, ripping pain from her stomach, Augusta was far beyond the comprehension of anything that spat like poisoned bullets from Ludwig’s mouth.   
  
Like a set of curtains coming down on a stage and announcing the end of the final act, Augusta stopped listening because she couldn’t hear. She stopped looking because she couldn’t see.   
  
Everything seemed to switch off. 


	10. Too Long

There was a pigeon on the windowsill.  
  
Beady eyes blinking rapidly with the curious left and right twitch of its head. Staring at her like it was not sure what she was.   
  
Net curtains blowing in the late morning breeze, Augusta listened to the sounds of the city. The cars horns in the distance. The neighbourhood wives talking on their doorsteps. She gripped the sheets when the unburdened laughter of a child playing struck like the loudest chord of a musical arrangement.   
  
Ludwig was successful. That was all there was to it. Augusta was no longer carrying the seed he planted twelve weeks ago.   
  
Augusta wasn't entirely sure if she should have felt so free to know she not carrying a constant reminder of the man or whether it was a detached coping mechanism. All Augusta knew was that losing a baby hurt physically as equally as it did mentally and emotionally.   
  
The first couple of days after waking in her bedroom were the worst—the hardest.   
  
Now, as Augusta watched the curious pigeon coo and blink, there was a gentle solace that overtook the ache in her chest.   
  
A doctor who examined and monitored the progress of the miscarriage in a cold and unsympathetic manner warned that she may never be able to conceive again—a smear on Augusta's importance as a vessel that could birth strong and healthy children.   
  
Augusta laughed when the doctor said it and was it not for the visitor to the room that day excusing the action behind her being distressed and unsure how to take the news, another mark would have been added to her medical file.   
  
Poor mental health was as unforgivable as being unable to bare a child.   
  
Augusta didn't really care. Not after almost dying and losing the baby. Nothing much-held meaning after that.   
  
Not even the news that Ludwig was stripped of his property, money, and his family was blacklisted was news that gave her reason to smile.   
  
Assaulting a member of pure status and of a royal household came with hefty long term punishments. None of which mattered. Not to Augusta.   
  
Rolling away from the staring competition with the little grey pigeon, Augusta's nose wrinkled when for the fifth time that week the smell of something burning in the kitchen permeated the house, and she waited a few seconds.   
  
It was the only thing that gave Augusta reason to smile over the last three weeks.   
  
_"Bloody!"_ Kilverney's voice carried through the house like he was in the very same room. _"Hell!"_ He finished with a meeting of frustration, amusement, and like he had indeed given up.   
  
Augusta wished many times that last week that Kilverney would give up trying to cook. The smells were excruciating, and the worry that he would finally set fire to the place was an anxiously spent few hours of wondering if she could survive a leap out the window.   
  
The only blessing was that whatever nightmare Kilverney cooked never entered the bedroom, and he would bring toast and tea and packets of biscuits to her.   
  
Augusta would eat them slowly while Kilverney asked how long something was supposed to cook for only to show surprise when she gave the timings with a show of fingers.   
  
Naive to the world as Augusta was, she wasn't so dull in the head to not realise that Kilverney's sudden attempt at being a house husband was born from a place of guilt.   
  
That afternoon, when Ludwig was lying in wait, was the very afternoon after the small shopping trip. Kilverney's unable to come back with Augusta and forced to walk meant he was late to arrive back at the house.   
  
Kilverney's arrival spared Augusta her life but not of the baby she was carrying.   
  
Were it not for the still-lingering presence of the driver who dropped Augusta home, Ludwig would have walked away without losing all that he had.   
  
The neighbours were disinclined to helping.   
  
They even denied seeing Ludwig to the Gestapo officers. A significant error on their part when Ludwig was apparently carted out to a waiting car in front of the neighbours who apparently saw nothing and the Gestapo warned that perverting the course of justice was enough to be sent to a camp.   
  
They showed surprise at the concept that the Gestapo were even there let alone being threatened with a camp for the sake of the wife of a non-pure.   
  
Augusta was looked down upon by them all due to being Kilverney's wife. An entity that they would not even spit on if she were on fire.   
  
Their attitudes changed when Augusta's father arrived with the family crest emblazoned on the front and back and caused quite the scene - according to Kilverney - in the street.   
  
The neighbours were grovelling now, trying to appease Augusta in case she turned out to be like the others of pure German status and had them all punished.   
  
All Augusta cared about was how her father arrived only a short time after. There was a chance it was lucky timing of a surprise visit, but Augusta didn't believe that.   
  
The SS officer in the tailors was the reason Augusta refused to believe that her father simply held impeccable timing.   
  
Whether Augusta liked it or not, she was being watched.   
  
Leaving the thought alone when the bedroom door crept open, Augusta hid the smile beneath her slow and sluggish efforts to sit up when Kilverney appeared with a plate of toast in one hand and two mugs in the other.   
  
_"We are out of jam."_ Kilverney greeted. _"So its only butter this morning."_ He shrugged as he walked over and placed that morning's breakfast on the bedside table, pulling up the stool from the vanity desk again to sit down.   
  
Augusta looked at the toast and tried not to laugh over the singed crusts. Kilverney was trying, and that was what counted.   
  
Picking up the plate and breaking up the part toasted, part cremated bread, Augusta was grateful that she could finally speak beyond a strained croaking when she said: _"Thank you."_  
  
Kilverney's face became blank. The mug he was about to sip from paused on reaching his mouth, he looked away quickly.   
  
It was the first thing Augusta had spoken to Kilverney in the three weeks since she was bedridden. The damage from the strangulation leaving talking far too painful to attempt, Augusta kept to small smiles and nods whenever Kilverney brought her meals.   
  
_"Here, I thought I would be living in the bliss of permanent silent treatment."_ Kilverney laughed, but it was awkward, and he still wouldn't meet Augusta's eyes. He looked down at his feet instead while sipping on his tea.   
  
Augusta could only assume Kilverney had not been thanked for anything in such a long time that it was like taking a compliment and not knowing what to do with it.   
  
_"I can go back to that if you like?"_ Augusta smiled around a bite of the toast. Oddly. It wasn't as bad in taste as it was an appearance for once.   
  
Kilverney waved a hand about with a shake of the head. Looking away and around the room like he had never seen it before. Returning the hand to cup beneath the mug filled with tea, Kilverney's chest filled with air, and he held it for a long time. A frown holding his brow as he too entered a staring contest with the windowsill pigeon.   
  
_"It wasn't your fault."_ Augusta placed down the broken toast pieces she was picking through, turning with a lot more ease than weeks before to reach for the tea she eyed the vessel for it with a little shake of the head. _"Mugs are for coffee."_ She picked it up, regardless, taking a sip.   
  
Kilverney jumped when Augusta told him it was not his fault. Tea spilling with the almost scattering of his arms in the surprise, he saved it with a firm grip of both hands, and after a few seconds to calm down, he placed it on the floor.   
  
Whether Kilverney was there that time or not Augusta doubted, the outcome would have been better. Kilverney could have died or faced arrest. Been blamed or set up to take the blame by Ludwig.   
  
_"That pigeon is giving me the creeps."_ Kilverney stood up, waving his hands while hissing _"Shoo! Shoo!"_ While walking over to the window where the pigeon remained unfazed by Kilverney.   
  
Augusta, on the other hand, could tell it was his way to avoid speaking about what she said.   
  
_"Kilverney?"_ Augusta tried to gain his attention back from the losing fight with the most resilient pigeon she had ever seen. He was deep into it. Talking and throwing slurs at the pigeon that cooed back like it was tossing them around.   
  
It was quite the marvel to behold, but Augusta couldn't become wrapped up in Kilverney's strangeness.   
  
_"Jonathan?"_ She tried using his first name, and it worked.   
  
Kilverney stopped flapping his arms and insulting the pigeon, his shoulders pinched together, like he was in pain.  
  
Worried Kilverney somehow hurt himself, Augusta placed the plate back on the bedside table she started to push back the covers but stopped when Kilverney shakily spoke.   
  
_"It's been almost seventeen years since anyone said my first name."_ With a widened focus when he looked over his shoulder, a painful but warm nostalgia painting his dark eyes. _"I almost forgot it was even my name."_ He laughed suddenly and stopped rapidly.   
  
Swallowing his breath while a hand cupped his mouth, fingers and thumb pinching his face.   
  
Alarmed by the reaction to something so simple, Augusta shuffled to the edge of the bed, testing her feet on the floor. They were shaky but would hold her up with a little support.   
  
Using the bed and the frame to shuffle around to where Kilverney was standing in a complete stupor, Augusta was surprisingly out of breath by the time she was close enough to reach out a hand, fingers brushing carefully up the arm.   
  
No person should ever look the way Kilverney did by forgetting how their first name sounded from a person's mouth. It was horrible to think that no one would call a person by the name gifted by their parents, the name they were supposed to be known unless wished otherwise.   
  
_"Kilverney?"_ Careful not to surprise him any further, Augusta poked his arm a little, wanting to rouse him and take away the painful nostalgia on his face.   
  
Kilverney's arm raised abruptly, almost sending Augusta toppling back.   
  
_"I have to get to work."_ Kilverney's whole demeanour switched, but his shock and uncertainty were evident when he turned and with a swift kiss on Augusta's cheek with a forced smile said: _"Don't wait up love."_ Before he was marching out the door.   
  
In a stupor herself a hand reached out after Kilverney, but it fell when the door slammed, and the rush of footsteps down the stairs was echoed by another slam of the front door.   
  
Left in the bedroom and alone again, Augusta didn't know what to make of Kilverney's jittery state after using his first name.   
  


* * *


	11. Lunch Break, Breaks

* * *

Happy to be out of bed, Augusta was still a little wobbly on her feet and became tired if she moved about too much. Yet, being unsteady footed and tired beat staring out a window.   
  
There was reason that morning to be up and moving around when the door was knocked a short time after Kilverney left for work.   
  
Warier than before about answering the door there was a split second panic when Augusta spied from the living room window which was on the doorstep. Being rational-minded and remembering that Otto shared Ludwig’s face, and that was all, Augusta opened the door with some uncertainty.   
  
After Ludwig’s assault and subsequent arrest, the Von Trapp family’s reputation was sent down in flames, and all they worked for or inherited was stripped away.   
  
So there were expectations for Otto to at least show some upset or anger over being punished for Ludwig’s actions.   
  
_“Nice place.”_ Otto continued to walk about rather than take a seat. Inspecting every little detail of the kitchen, hallway and living room. _“I thought it would be a run-down hovel.”_ He confessed with a sly grin.   
  
Sitting down after placing the coffee’s on the table, Augusta shook her head. _“It had its flaws.”_ Her eyes were heavy again, and she had to stop herself from closing them. _“Nothing that a lick of paint couldn’t remedy.”_ She chose to shuffle to the edge of the sofa rather than lean to pick up the coffee.   
  
Otto watched with a slight narrowing in his eyes, a flinch and wince almost when Augusta’s movements were restricted by the remnant aches of the miscarriage and bruising.   
  
_“And you?”_ Otto asked gently, finally making some attempt not to be on edge and relax. _“How are you?”_  
  
Brushing back her hair, Augusta nestled the coffee mug in her hands and shrugged. _“Okay.”_ She mumbled softly. _“I guess.”_  
  
What else was there to say?   
  
Augusta wasn’t allowed to be anything else, but okay. There was no help for those who were suffering emotionally or mentally. The Empire only looked after the physical health of its people.   
  
Otto came around the small coffee table to sit beside Augusta and with it a worrisome smile. There was a pinch in Otto’s brow and in his mouth, a hand tapping his knee like he wished to ask something but was unsure.   
  
_“Are you happy here?”_ Came out rapidly and low from Otto and with it a little dip of his head when Augusta turned away.   
  
Otto was someone Augusta could trust to keep a secret. However, the recent events left Augusta cautious over the hidden agendas of those around her. Otto included.   
  
_“I am.”_ Augusta painted on a smile. _“Anywhere is better than with Ludwig, so I am happy.”_ Not wanting to say that she was starting to settle and enjoy living with Kilverney for the poor implications it could bring if anyone knew, Augusta sipped the coffee to hide the genuine smile that the thought of Kilverney oddly created.   
  
Otto did not look convinced entirely by the explanation, and he came a little closer, leaning in to speak more personally in her ear.   
  
_“Otto.”_ Augusta laughed purely out of shock. _“No-I—No!”_ Leaning away even when it caused discomfort to twist her middle, Augusta’s eyebrows lifted in her furthered surprise when Otto shrugged back. _“Only needed to know I wasn’t replaced.”_ With a wicked smile.   
  
Skin in furious flushing over Otto’s concern that Augusta was more than happily settled with her new husband, she elbowed his side when he continued to smile merrily over the answer.   
  
Augusta didn’t look at Kilverney in any way other than a friend.   
  
_“Is this why you came all the way here?”_ Augusta tilted an upwards look when Otto settled back in the sofa, stretching his arm over the back. _“To check on your status?”_  
  
In bed with Otto for over a year, Augusta enjoyed his company. His gentleness even if he was sometimes hell-bent on being a wind-up. Otto was the escape needed from his twin brother, Ludwig.   
  
With no insight into how a marriage with Ludwig would be or become. How it would dissolve into a hellish place to be, Augusta came to believe that Otto would be the only place she would find solace. For fourteen months, Otto was the only place Augusta felt safe.   
  
Now, even with Ludwig finding where Augusta was living, Kilverney’s house started to feel homely. Something that Augusta never felt while living in the Von Trapp castle.   
  
_“I am far from concerned with a Schmutz taking my place.”_ Otto snorted like it was the most ridiculous thing to be asked. For someone of Otto’s status, it was. Status meant everything, and it affected how desirable a person was.   
  
All Augusta heard was a slur against Kilverney. Against those who were more than their status.  
  
Schmutz literally meant filth and Augusta couldn’t help it when she snapped back. _“He is not a Schmutz!”_ Angrily.   
  
Otto leant back rapidly when Augusta snapped at him, face wide open in surprise.   
  
_“Are you pitying him or merely don’t want to be labelled the spouse of a Schmutz?”_ Otto laughed completely misunderstanding why Augusta became agitated and upset.   
  
Augusta shifted over on the sofa, moving away from Otto. _“Is that what I am? Someone who pities people for the sake of my own reputation?”_ She asked with a frustrated breath. _“I would take being a Schmutz over an arrogant, pig-headed, ignorant shit like you.”_  
  
Sucking in air to bring an end to the little tangent, Augusta could no longer even blame the outburst on pregnancy hormones, and the remainder was a painful one.   
  
Otto sat with a crease in his brow, stroking his jaw while studying Augusta closely, curiously.   
  
_“You’re lucky I am not the kind who will repeat any of what you have said.”_ Otto’s voice was an amused husky chuckle. _“That I am inclined deeply to you and shan’t repeat it.”_ The arm over the back of the sofa came away, the hand laid on Augusta’s back, and it came with a kiss to her temple.   
  
Augusta didn’t ever want to have to need to be thankful for defending a race of people and know what she said would never be repeated.  
  
The concept was wrong. Warped. Tiresome stress and worry to know who was safe to speak with and in front of.   
  
No one should ever have to feel that way. Be made to feel lesser because of their status in a society that cared only for itself and the betterment of those it deemed worthy.   
  
Especially not from a man who knew what the world was before it became what it was then.   
  
Otto was in his mid-forties, but Augusta would never dare to ask him about the world before. Not after his comment that Augusta was lucky, he liked her enough not to tell anyone she defended someone of Kilverney’s status.   
  
The longer Augusta lived with Kilverney, the less she liked the world they lived in. The system put in place determined to take everything from them. How a person’s birth decided whether they would enjoy the simplest things in life.   
  
_“Listen.”_ Otto shifted closer, being ever so careful how he touched her body. _“I meant nothing by it.”_ Again he kissed Augusta’s temple. _“I can only imagine how difficult this must be.”_ He expressed solemnly, taking the coffee mug out of her hands. _“I want you to know I am here for you if you need me.”_  
  
Augusta used to smile when Otto told her that he would be there if she needed him, but it barely created a smile on her lips this time.   
  
_“You are going to struggle now.”_ Augusta met Otto’s embracing gaze. _“Your status being in tatters.”_ Ludwig’s assault sent his family into complete ruin. Otto would be included.   
  
Except, by the sly smile Otto returned, Augusta suspected otherwise.   
  
_“I made a deal with the head of the Gestapo.”_ Otto tapped his nose like he held a great secret. _“Ludwig is the only one who will suffer for what he did.”_ There was a great pride over the part that Otto did not elaborate on.   
  
Not wanting to know the ins and outs of the deal, Augusta laughed miserably about Otto’s choice of words. Ludwig was not the only one to suffer, and she found her hand touching the flattening skin of her stomach.   
  
Otto glanced where Augusta touched and with a lopsided smile he tucked back her hair, _“I know it won’t change anything,”_ he was careful how he spoke. _“But you will have a chance again. Regardless of what the doctors have said, you will get a chance.”_  
  
Augusta wanted to believe in Otto’s words, but she also didn’t want to give herself false hopes.   
  
_“Thank you.”_ Augusta rested on Otto’s shoulder, warmed a little by his efforts to make her feel better.   
  
Otto sighed, bringing the hand from her side to run the fingers through her hair. _“I will always only want the best for you. You know that.”_ He breathed faintly, encouraging her to rest back on the sofa with him.   
  
Augusta almost did. Wanting to grasp onto the safe comfort Otto always was over her.   
  
This time though was different. Augusta was not seeking an escape, she was content to a degree with where she was. Augusta would even go so far to say she was happily married. The exception being there was no intimacy.   
  
Still, Augusta settled down and lay slightly on Otto like she always would. The tenderness of her body forgotten while in the embrace of Otto.   
  
Calmed to the point she was drifting to sleep it came to a suddenly awakened moment when the front door closed with a softer slam, and Augusta could hear Kilverney talking to himself.   
  
_“Oh.”_ Augusta sat up suddenly. A little too quickly that she almost fell off the sofa. Augusta tried to shrug Otto off when he became inexplicably amorous, touching and small kisses while Kilverney’s steps drew closer. _“Stop it!”_ Augusta scolded, again jabbing Otto’s side.   
  
Standing - trying - as the living room door was opened, Augusta didn’t have any window of time to keep Otto from cupping under her chin and bringing her head back to take a kiss.   
  
_“I wasn’t sure if you liked them, but I bought them any—oh.”_ Kilverney’s talking faded away with surprise. It was timed perfectly with the double slap Augusta issued to Otto’s face.   
  
Breaking away from Otto’s poorly timed games, Augusta wiped her mouth. Otto was almost intentionally sloppy with the kiss that it left behind a glistening of saliva.   
  
Kilverney’s face was screwed up like he was in pain but incredibly wary also.   
  
_“Otto.”_ Kilverney waggled a finger. _“Von Trapp.”_ The last name came out with a tinge of resentment. _“Right?”_ He asked with an off look thrown at Augusta.   
  
Otto was in the middle of rubbing both cheeks where Augusta slapped him, but he smiled snidely. _“Well done.”_ He lowered his hands into a sarcastic clapping. _“Schmutz.”_  
  
Again Otto used the slur, and Augusta again hit him for it. _“Stop it.”_ She pleaded, not wanting to make the atmosphere as tense as it was awkward.   
  
Kilverney was in his own home. This was not fair to him at all. Especially when Kilverney could say or do nothing about it.   
  
_“You can leave.”_ Augusta gestured to the door.   
  
_“At least we’re in agreement on that.”_ Otto responded wryly.   
  
Augusta pushed Otto’s arm. _“You. I meant you.”_ She shoved him again. _“Take your shitty personality with you as well.”_ She moved behind Otto to get him moving.   
  
Otto spluttered surprise. Genuinely shocked that Augusta was kicking him out over Kilverney.   
  
_“Hold up.”_ Otto twisted to get away from Augusta’s pushing, but, thought it hurt, she kicked him in the ankle to distract him.   
  
_“Out.”_ Augusta was feeling the effects of becoming tired so quickly. She was already burning out and breathless from trying to heave Otto’s weight. _“And stay out, Otto.”_  
  
Managing to get him into the hallway, Augusta huffed a little, sweeping back her hair she turned a pleading look on Otto to be kindly rather than laud his position of power to be like his brother, Ludwig.   
  
Otto was pissed off, and Augusta could see it clear as daylight.   
  
_“Seriously?”_ Otto close to snarled. _“You’re showing favour to the likes of this scraggly piece of—?!”_ _“Over the likes of an overgrown arsehole like you?”_ Augusta interjected sharply. _“You are turning out to be more like your brother than you would like to admit, Von Trapp.”_ She added with a stiff tilt of her head.   
  
Augusta was tiny by comparison to Otto, but right then she felt like she stood taller than even he.   
  
_“You’re only standing on your pedestal because of your cowardice to accept your families fall from grace by dirty money shoved in the pocket of the Gestapo.”_ Augusta strode forward, stabbing Otto’s chest with a finger. _“You’re the Schmutz here, Otto Von Trapp. Don’t forget that.”_  
  
Otto’s face fell from its anger into sheer shock, his eyes practically propelled from their sockets when he stared down upon her.   
  
_“Did you hit your head?”_ Otto asked like he could better fathom her attitude if there was some injury to blame.   
  
Augusta barked a little laugh back. _“No.”_ She snapped. _“Your brother did almost choke me to death and kicked his own child out of me, though.”_ Augusta spread her hands over the space that was yet to settle back flat on her stomach to make the point starkly.   
  
Otto raised his hand like he was about to say something but his words were swallowed. Lost.   
  
_“Goodbye, Otto.”_ Augusta took his silence as all she needed to hear to know that Otto would always be Otto. The unwavering support of the Empire and how it treated those it deemed impure.   
  
Otto again appeared shocked, but it was shorter than the first before it was overcome with a crestfallen state, and he withdrew from Augusta for the door.   
  
Watching Otto leave, Augusta didn’t know what she was expected to feel, but she never thought it would be a relief.  
  
The last person who tied Augusta to the worst thing in her life was gone. The face shared with the man who stole the most incredible thing from her was gone, and with his departure, the tiredness crept back.   
  
Shoulders breaking their rigid stance, Augusta exhaled shakily, eyes weighted and wanting to close she could tell that she needed to lay down.   
  
Not yet. Augusta would have to delay the need for rest to apologise to Kilverney first.   
  
Turning about, Augusta paused when she finally looked at what was in his hand and almost thrust under her nose.   
  
_“As I was saying, I didn’t know which one you would like.”_ Kilverney was speaking rapidly, but it wasn’t like his sudden awkwardness like the time she spoke his first name. It was pure joy. _“So I bought you both.”_ He shook the brown paper bag.   
  
There was a sweet sugary smell permeating from the bag, and Augusta smiled when she took the bag, opening it.   
  
Inside was a Franzbotchen and a Buchtel.   
  
Augusta bit on her lip lightly, eyes flicking up to Kilverney’s with every effort not to tear up from the kindhearted gesture.   
  
_“I like both.”_ Augusta closed the bag again, and she managed to forget the tiredness when she pointed to the kitchen. _“We can share them with a coffee?”_  
  
Kilverney checked his watch. _“I only came back on my lunch break.”_ He tapped the cracked and scuffed clock face. _“But I have enough time for coffee.”_ He glanced over to Augusta with a smile.   
  
Happy to hear that Kilverney could stay a little longer, Augusta didn’t waste time at all, and she beckoned Kilverney into the kitchen.   
  
It wasn’t much at all to bring home a couple of pastries on his lunch break, but to Augusta, it was the kindest thing anyone had done for her in a long while.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augusta/Reader is a tiddly 4ft11  
> While Otto & Ludwig are both 6ft4 bordering closer to 6ft5  
> So by comparison, she is like an ant standing next to a giraffe when it comes to the Von Trapp twins 😭😂  
> Kilverney is 6ft1


	12. Tender Darkness

* * *

Staying out late often was seen unseemly and improper behaviour unless there was a valid reason for it.   
  
Attending a dinner or a show or a public event were some of the few that permitted people to be out late at nighttime. If there were none of the above and the individual was not working, they would face questioning and a fine if caught.   
  
Public intoxication was considered the crudest crime that was not punishable by arrest, and it cost a person more than what was in their pocket.   
  
Their face would be printed in the paper for Empire-wide humiliation. Wages were docked. Permits retracted and sometimes, depending, losing their job were some of the numerous consequences that they could face.   
  
Which was why Augusta walked with nervous jitters in every step through the dimly lit back passages to a place she never knew existed.   
  
Woken that morning at half two when the drilling of the phone went unanswered, Augusta padded down the stairs with no idea what to expect for the unsociable hour of the call.   
  
Middle of the night phone calls was never a good thing.   
  
Checking the scrawled address Augusta wrote down half asleep under the lamplight at the mouth of the alley she was standing in front of, she checked again that she was not being followed.   
  
Every shadow, rustle of a bush, the whistle of the wind added to Augusta's paranoid anxiety that it was a member of the Schutzstaffel or Gestapo following her journey into the slums of Berlin.   
  
Drawing a steadying breath, Augusta pulled the hood of her coat up further and stepped into the swallowing darkness of the passageway.   
  
The house Augusta was supposed to find should be at the end. Providing the whispered words of the man on the phone was hear correctly, and it was not a set up of some other machination.   
  
There was no lighting. No street lamps or a warm glow from a house window to be seen. It was only a dark almost derelict square Augusta found at the end of the passageway.   
  
Impossible to define the shapes of anything or where number 88 would be, Augusta picked at her bottom lip trying to think clearly and calmly how to proceed.   
  
The person who called never gave a name only an address and that Kilverney was far too drunk to be left to walk home alone.   
  
Someone of Kilverney's status should have held no access to alcohol, and so Augusta could only imagine it was homemade concoctions that left Kilverney in need of an escort home.   
  
There was no way Augusta could start knocking on doors to find Kilverney, which left her in a predicament.   
  
Continuing to pick at her bottom lip, Augusta looked left and right, checking behind again that no one was standing in the shadows of the passageway entrance.   
  
There was about half an hour before the patrols would make another round of the city to ensure no one was out when they were not supposed to be.   
  
It left a small window of time to find Kilverney and get him home before they were spotted and would need to explain why they were outside at this hour.   
  
_"Psst!"_ A voice hissed from the darkness behind and to Augusta's left.   
  
Turning around quickly, Augusta squinted against the shadowy mass that refused to budge and make a recognisable shape.   
  
Augusta didn't speak in case it was a trap of some nature, but she did bring the scarf from around her neck higher and over her face when she made a cautious step towards the person.   
  
_"He's here."_ The voice was in a low grumble and most definitely male. _"Get him home."_ They ordered. _"Stay safe."_ They added after and with rapid steps that faded away, it was apparent the person was gone.   
  
Still unable to see a thing, Augusta was forced to extend an arm and feel through the blanket of darkness for where the person whispered Kilverney was.   
  
There was no noise. Not even breathing of another that indicated where Augusta needed to head towards, and it created a stark coldness to brush over her skin.   
  
Was Kilverney even conscious?   
  
The thought that it was a set up after all and that Kilverney was not drunk but hurt overtook, and Augusta became hurried in the effort to locate him.   
  
Searching with an outstretched hand but also taking care with every step forward, worried that he would be found on the cold ground, Augusta switched to a different tactic when she realised that she could be moving in the entirely wrong direction.   
  
_"Kilverney?"_ Augusta kept to a low level, and she listened closely for anything that would hint where he was.   
  
Augusta stopped when a loud hiccup echoed from her right and on its heels came a laughed. _"Oh, heck."_  
  
Heart in a flutter of relief that Kilverney was conscious and clearly unhurt by the way he was laughing to himself, Augusta stood still and with a spike of irritation over the worry he caused she hissed. _"Come here!"_  
  
There was a staggering shuffling set of steps, and another hiccup before Kilverney responded: _"No."_ like a defiant child.   
  
Augusta would have considered it funny if it were not for the ever-present fear of them being discovered.   
  
_"We don't have time for this",_ Augusta stressed, taking a step in the direction where Kilverney was likely swaying about on his feet. _"Please!"_ She insisted, following the noise he was making.   
  
_"Oh, as you said, please."_ There was obvious sarcasm in Kilverney's response, and yet he stumbled out of his hiding spot.   
  
Augusta could barely see, but she managed to make out the consistent - swaying - outline of Kilverney.  
  
_"Why are you here?"_ Kilverney hiccuped again, staggering closer.   
  
Augusta didn't think now was the time to explain that one of Kilverney's associates called her to collect him. The more time spent taking would leave them open to being caught by the patrols.   
  
_"Let's get you home first."_ Augusta tried to encourage Kilverney to come back, placing out both arms ready and waiting for if he tripped or fell.   
  
Kilverney snorted loudly and then lowered his volume to a breathless: _"This isn't my home."_  
  
Confused but with no room among her concern and panic over being caught to question Kilverney's choice of words, Augusta simply answered: _"I know."_ While moving closer to put an arm around him and hold him securely.   
  
Kilverney's arm was heavy when it fell over Augusta's shoulder, and he was more so when he bowed forward to ask _"Do you though?"_ With a scathing tone.   
  
No, Augusta didn't know at all what Kilverney meant by the house they shared not being his home. Though there and then was not the time for that discussion. They needed to get moving.   
  
_"We can talk about it later"_ , Augusta promised, trying not to teeter over with his weight almost entirely on her body. There was still a few remnants of her spell of being bedridden, but she chose not to highlight it when Kilverney was clearly not thinking straight. _"Let's go."_ She tried to steer them both towards the passageway.   
  
Kilverney followed for all of two steps before he threw himself up and away from Augusta, and it came with an angry accusation.   
  
_"I don't need your pity!"_ He thrust a finger into her chest. _"I have managed just fine without you all these years. I will now!"_  
  
There was slurring in his speech, and it came with his strange accent again.   
  
Were they not in the open and risking being overheard or worse, Augusta might have been upset by Kilverney's drunken words?   
  
_"I don't pity you."_ Augusta shook her head, though in the beginning she certainly did.   
  
Kilverney scoffed loudly. _"Oh, drop the act!"_ He flicked the end of her nose sharply. _"This whole thinking the system is unfair on people like me bull crap!"_ He waved his hands about Augusta's head. _"You don't give a damn about us!"_  
  
Kilverney was a terrible drunk it would seem, and Augusta was in half a mind to tell him that he was. Instead, she took a hold of his waving arms to hold them in place and avoid being clipped by one by accident.   
  
_"If I didn't care, would I be here?!"_ Augusta crowed back. Wholly unaware of where Kilverney's sudden ire towards her was coming from. "Would I be here if I didn't care about you!"  
  
Kilverney stopped in his sudden swaying and noises of contest to what Augusta was arguing back.   
  
_"Kil—no. Jonathan."_ Augusta thought it was awful from the second she witnessed how he reacted to hearing his first name, how unfamiliar he was with it that he seemed unsure how to respond to it. So to drive her point into Jonathan's inebriated head, she used it. _"I am only here because I don't want you to be caught and fined, or worse lose your job!"_ She knew his work was vital to him.   
  
_"Now, please."_ Augusta brought his hands down and into the space between them. _"Come home."_ She again implored him.   
  
Heart jumping when Kilverney took a step like he was about to follow, Augusta's head twinged with a sharp pain when Kilverney's fell against her forehead. Almost like he wished to headbutt her but was not committed.   
  
Stumbling when Kilverney pushed against her and snatched his wrists free from Augusta's hands, her heartbeat quickened when her back clipped a cold wall. It was slimy and seeping through her coat, but she was able to ignore it when Kilverney pushed harder.   
  
_"Do you though?"_ Kilverney's tenor was low and pained almost. _"Care?"_  
  
Close enough that Augusta could faintly see his face she tried not to give in to the rising panic. Being pinned in place a reminder of a time not so long ago. Trying to settle her breathing, Augusta focused on Kilverney's question.   
  
_"I do."_ Augusta meant it to. Augusta did care what happened to Kilverney. About his well-being. _"I care about you, Jonathan."_  
  
Kilverney's breath blew hotly over Augusta's face when he groaned. It was scented by the sting of tobacco and spiced ale. _"Repeat it."_ He asked with a shaky tone. It matched the tremble of his body.  
  
 _"...Repeat what?"_ Augusta was unsure what Kilverney wanted to hear again, and she swallowed deeply when he moved closer, his lips hovering close to her mouth when he almost whimpered. _"My name."_  
  
Wondering if this was part of the drinking, Augusta somehow felt it would be wrong to deny Kilverney the most straightforward request ever asked of her.  
  
_"Jonathan."_ She repeated gently, unexpectedly tenderly and soft-spoken.  
  
The moment it left her tongue, Kilverney's lips were on Augusta's as tenderly as she spoke his name.  
  


* * *


	13. Amnesia

* * *

Augusta sat quietly at the kitchen table watching the sorry looking state Kilverney groaned and mumbled at the other end; his head laid down on the table.

Kilverney’s escapades from the night before left their marks. Scratches and scathes with brick walls, an iron fence and more bushes and hedges than Augusta cared to count.

Two and a half hours were spent attempting to bring Kilverney back home while avoiding the roaming patrols. Dawn was breaking by the time Kilverney fell over the garden gate, and Augusta half walked, half dragged him up the front steps.

Augusta surmised that Kilverney was a whole lot more intoxicated than when they met in the blacked-out square; He was close to insufferable to get back home; he also appeared to have a bout of amnesia.

"Drinking moonshine will do this to you." Augusta tutted, standing with a purposeful scraping of the chair legs over the floor. Smiling when Kilverney groaned and raised his head off the table with a great wince.

Kilverney’s face became buried in the palm of his hand when the rays of morning sun touched his eyes, forcing them to screw shut. "On the contrary, it was the proper stuff taken from the evidence locker." Arguing back, his voice was thick but croaking.

Augusta paused in filling up the kettle. "Oh?" She laughed. "So you’re a thief and a fool?" Nodding over the summary, Augusta turned off the tap with a short laugh. "Who almost got us caught five times with his drunken buffoonery." The kettle clanged when it hit the stovetop.

Kilverney sucked in a hissing breath. Turning the hand covering his face to cup the side that let him block out the sunlight. "I never asked you to come and get me." He argued back with an attempt to be nonchalant but quit when his body seized up like it was in pain.

True. Kilverney never asked Augusta to come and get him.

"You needed help." Augusta countered. "Your friend asked me to collect you." She made sure to close the cupboard door as hard as possible.

Kilverney gave a loud: "Hmph!" While patting down his front, checking the inside pockets.

Picking up the cigarettes and lighter that Augusta was forced to rescue from the second hedge he fell in, she shook them.

Kilverney’s smile was terse with an upwards look, but he relaxed it when he asked for his smokes. Augusta tossed them across the table.

Ever since Kilverney’s kiss, he acted strangely. Like with the aforementioned amnesia. It was like it never happened. Like he never asked Augusta to repeat using his name.

"Do you have work today?" Asking whether Kilverney needed a rapid recovery or nap, Augusta prepared the morning teas.

Kilverney was no longer sat down at the table, and by the rattle of the kitchen blinds and the dimmed lighting, he chose to block out the sun. "I don’t. I wouldn’t have hit the bottle so hard otherwise." He explained with a deep sigh. As if the lacking light was the greatest pain relief.

Augusta made a noise like his response made perfect sense. "Of course." She laughed.

Able to guess that Kilverney’s day would be spent asleep and feeling sorry for himself, Augusta also planned to spend the day catching up on sleep she lost rescuing Kilverney from himself.

"Did you want to do something?" Kilverney appeared at Augusta’s side without prior warning. Jumping over a step, Augusta managed to avoid knocking over the cups by a millimetre.

Turned around by the surprise question and the closeness, Augusta held her breath when tobacco and spiced ale scent. This time it wasn’t so fresh but staled. It reminded Augusta how tender the kiss they shared was.

Augusta didn’t quite look up at Kilverney when he remained standing close, his breathing a little wheezing likely from smoking heavily throughout the night.

"No-I...huh?" Stumbling through her answer, Augusta made a shuffling step away. She stopped when Kilverney put his arm out, catching her side.

Held in place, Augusta became warmer when Kilverney bent down and leaned in close to her face. Scrutinising it. 

“I thought as much.” Kilverney took a backward step. “I made a horses arse of myself. Didn’t I?” 

Augusta exhaled shakily, tucking back her hair. Kilverney really didn’t recall the kiss at all, or he classed it as part of his acting a horses arse. 

“If you call climbing up a wall to avoid the patrol to land on the side the patrol actually was?” Augusta cocked her head, stroking her temple at the memory. “Then, yes. The biggest horses arse I have met.” 

Kilverney winced, but he smiled. It was a huge smile, and his eyes crinkled at the edges softening the harshness of their puffiness and bloodshot focus. 

“My almost being fined is more arse foolery to you than my liking how my name sounded on your tongue?” Kilverney held his chin, studying Augusta closely, tilting his head when she finished gawking at him and looked away. “Not even that, I kiss—?!” 

Augusta needed to tiptoe a little to be able to clap both hands over Kilverney’s smile, which only grew against the palms of her hands when she shook her head rapidly. 

“Go back to being an amnesiac,” Augusta asked with sincerity. “Please.” 

Not wanting to muddle what was a case of drunken idiocy for potential feelings, Augusta preferred the idea that Kilverney forgot and that her excitement from the kiss was nothing more than surprise. 

Kilverney’s brow lifted, and his eyes portrayed surprise when he muffled against her palms: “I dimf forgeff.” At the same time, trying to take away her hands. They fell of their own accord when Augusta sought clarification that she heard Kilverney correctly. 

Kilverney’s smile was more of a grin, and he tilted his head. “I didn’t forget.” 

  
  


* * *


	14. Hush

* * *

"If I tell you." Kilverney’s hangover was still heavy over him. Eyes closed, he laid on his side, hand tucked under his head. "You can not tell anyone at all." He managed to enthuse stress into his speech even while it was a half-asleep mumble. "Ever."

Augusta laid on her side also. Hugging the pillow in one hand the excitement fighting fiercely with the sleepiness. "You have my word." She yawned back, shifting lower on the bed and becoming more comfortable in the duvet.

After Kilverney admitted that he did not forget about the kiss, Augusta was left a little clueless about tackling it.

So it was relieving when Kilverney said that he needed a few hours sleep, and suggested Augusta did the same.

What Augusta never thought would occur was Kilverney climbing into her bed. Opening up the conversation from the second he was comfortable, Augusta forgot to ask why he was in her bed.

"I am originally from a place called Ireland, County Cork." Kilverney’s accent again was strong and thick, but it was gently endearing too. "You won’t find it on any maps now though." There was a mournful way he spoke about it.

Augusta was enthralled and wanting to know more about the place Kilverney came from. What Ireland and county Cork was like. The people. The language. Everything.

"We are-were," Kilverney cracked open one eye when Augusta jumped up a little on the bed, resting on her elbow. "Called Irish. Our language is Gaelic." He continued and let his eye close again, a tiny smile on his face.

Augusta never heard of other countries or languages or people being known by any label other than German.

There was a whole other identity’s that Augusta never knew existed.

"How comes you’re here then?" Augusta hid the excitement and chose a tactful and careful approach. Trying to be considerate of Kilverney’s feelings over the matter that his homeland was no longer what it once was, rather than becoming wrapped up in the excitement that someone was finally speaking.

Kilverney’s arm came out from where it lay over his side, and with the hand he cupped Augusta’s head, making her lay down again.

"That is something I don’t wish for you to know." Kilverney let his hand stay resting on Augusta’s head, the thumb rubbing her hair soothingly. "I will tell you anything else but that." There was conviction in his words, and there was going to be no budge on the matter.

Disappointed but quietly accepting that Kilverney was telling her more than enough, she lay still on the pillow, rather enjoying the gentle contact of his hand in her hair.

Laying still, watching the smile on Kilverney’s face and wondering if it was the silence or the way they were lying side by side, Augusta knew it was best not to let her romantic fantasies run wild. 

“Kilverney?” Augusta wanted to ask something a little more specific about the world. “Kilverney?” Knowing that he was still awake by how his thumb continued to brush her hair, she asked again. “I know you’re awake.” She considered poking him or even nudging him with her foot. 

He was intentionally quiet, and Augusta narrowed her eyes a little when she saw his smile grow more amused by his being silent. 

Augusta adopted a different approach after a few seconds, thinking about whether it was a good idea. 

Shifting over on the bed, moving into his side and coming out from under his hand, Augusta watched his brow creased with a frown, but his eyes stayed closed, the smile becoming unsure and possibly nervous when she crept closer. The arm Kilverney reached out before to make her lay down, moving down her body until it rested in the dip of her waist. 

Close enough the warm and gentle breeze of Kilverney’s breathing tickled over her face, Augusta settled again and waited. 

Kilverney’s lips pinched, and he pulled them side to side. Like he was thinking. Debating whether to do something. Augusta was close enough that she could see the wrinkled skin around his eyes, the laugh lines on his cheeks. He was obviously a man who smiled a lot once. Something took that away. Stole the bright-eyed look that was now tired and suspicious. 

She couldn’t even see Kilverney’s eyes at that moment. See their hazel outermost ring that became honey-toned when the light caught them. Or how deep and dark and mysterious the inside of those honeyed rings were. 

Kilverney’s face was drawn most days. There was starting specks of grey in the brown of his hair. He seemed tired and worn down by the world. Yet he was also determined to live the best he could with what he had. And it wasn’t much. But he had his work. A job he seemed to be deeply devoted to. 

They were so close, and still, Kilverney said nothing. She could feel, though. Feel how tense the proximity made him that he was shaking too—only a little. Like a small shiver was travelling up his spine. And he swallowed more than a few times since Augusta settled down close to him. The hand on Augusta’s side clenched into a fist to hide the trembling in his fingers. 

“Jonathan.” 

Augusta whispered his name, thinking it would be enough to get him to quit his silence. It held an effect. Though not the one Augusta suspected. How the use of a man’s name could hold so much power, Augusta was sure she would never understand. Not when it created some arousal almost when Kilverney groaned deep in his chest a second before he relaxed the fist of his hand, the palm pressing into the dip of her back and bringing her closer. Pressing them together. It came with a mumbled complaint that she was unfair. 

Any chance to ask what he meant by it was taken away when Augusta found herself laying on her back, buried deeper into the pillows by the fire in the kiss Kilverney pressed to her lips. The small stupor it created ending when Kilverney’s rough-skinned fingers cut a path up her thighs. 

Augusta didn’t fight it. Didn’t stop Kilverney’s rushed and fevered efforts to strip away the simple fabric that lay between them. She helped by lifting her hips, holding his face with her hands, returning the impassioned kiss with equal heat. Her skin no longer aching with pain left by Ludwig’s assault but burning and pulsing in anticipation of Kilverney, she rolled her hips, pressing against him, seeking their meeting with an eager wanton need. 

A need to know how Kilverney would feel. How it would be to lay down beneath him. To be the complete focus of his attention. 

They were meeting in a pure state of lust. A spur of the moment passionate conversation spoken only by the language two bodies could translate. 

There were no errors in the translation, Augusta wanted Kilverney as much as he wanted her at that moment. And she let him. 

Let him drag her further down the bed. Let him lay over her. Let him slip in the space he sought. 

Kilverney’s arms came around Augusta and held her close and tight. Their mouths only parting when Augusta’s breathing became heavier and hitching every time he moved within her. They stayed on each other’s lips until Kilverney’s hand came up and cradled the top of her head, face buried in the crook of her neck, he held her so tightly like he thought she would somehow vanish if he didn’t. 

Fingers scattering into Kilverney’s hair, holding him far more gentle but keeping him close, Augusta pressed her cheek against his with her lips ghosting the lobe of his ear she let out his name tangled with a deeply hitched breath. 

It was not clear whether it was like some aphrodisiac to him, but Augusta recognised the sudden tautness that gripped Kilverney’s body. How each thrust became harder, faster, chasing the impending end of his thrill. She wanted him to have it. To take it even if she was far from her own. 

“Fuck.” Kilverney husked through a strained breath. His mouth hot against Augusta’s neck, his arms spasmed around her. His pushes deepened. And she could feel how he pulsed and throbbed inside her. It was odd but not uncomfortable. It actually felt good. 

Augusta rolled into each final thrust Kilverney made. Taking every little inch she could. Her knees pinching on his sides when he gave the final push. 

Breathing heavy and hard, Kilverney collapsed almost in Augusta’s arms, face still buried in her neck, he stayed there. Augusta let him. Stroking his hair, she liked how it felt to be in his arms, and she wanted to stay in them for hours. They felt safe. Sure. A place where Augusta would never know fear again. 

Letting her eyes close when the tiredness returned, Augusta listened to Kilverney’s breathing as it became calmer and less panting. Softer, deeper, and most certainly heading towards falling asleep. Augusta wanted to sleep too. 

The questions might have come to an end for the time being, but Augusta was far from disappointed. There would be plenty of time later to ask more. 

* * *


	15. Suspicious Minds Honest Hearts

The combination of birds twittering and an obnoxiously loud car horn woke Augusta. 

Flying up the headboard in confused disorientation, Augusta quickly slumped back with a yawn and rubbing one eye. 

Glancing over to the window after clearing the sleep from her eyes, Augusta’s brow creased to find it was dark outside. 

Checking the time on the small carriage clock that sat on the mantlepiece above the fire, Augusta could make out where the hour hand sat by the light of the lamppost that trickled in the window. 

It was seven in the evening? 

After being up all night, the idea was to take a couple of hours nap. Augusta presumed she was far more tired than first thought. 

A whole day wasted by sleeping, Augusta knew that she would have to persevere and stay up all night and day again to reset her sleeping pattern to a more appropriate one. 

Starting to throw back the covers to get out of bed, Augusta paused when her foot hooked on a piece of fabric, and she kicked it off in her surprise. 

Taking a few blinks to be sure she saw what she thought she was, Augusta’s heart made a rapid gallop. 

The temporary sleep-induced forgetfulness gone in a snap when Augusta spied the simple undergarment, she recalled with complete clarity how her morning was spent. 

Far from an unpleasant morning and, in fact, rather an eye-opening, Augusta smiled faintly over the last few moments before sleep took over. 

Nothing in the way of wild and excitingly passionate, it was a simple taster of what could come later. Though Kilverney’s absence from the bed that evening, Augusta chose not to overthink it as anything more than what it was. 

Two consensual adults who relieved their bodily stresses. 

Augusta didn’t want to think it was something deeper than what it was for the time being to spare her heart the aches of being let down later. 

Not wanting to be seen as a young and dumb girl for thinking sleeping with a person needed to mean something, Augusta climbed out the bed with a small shake of her head. 

Remaking the bed before opening the wardrobe to decide that days outfit, Augusta let her hair down from its bed mussed but still pinned updo. Letting it fall down her back, she smoothed it out by running her fingers through it. 

Deciding that now, living with Kilverney, that she no longer needed to wear it up to keep it from being used as a means to drag her about or keep her in place as Ludwig did for over a year, Augusta sighed at the thought she could wear it down. 

Selecting a black cotton blouse with small bow detail on the collar and a set of high waist trousers, Augusta laid them out on the bed and shed off her day-old clothes. 

Trousers on women were only a recent thing. A fashionable statement only allowed to be worn indoors made for more comfortable home attire than constantly wearing skirts and dresses. It was deemed a revolutionary moment when women were granted permission to wear trousers in their homes in the previous year. 

Permission that was only permitted if the man of the house allowed it. 

Augusta doubted that Kilverney would mind what she wore at all. Something gave the impression she could walk about in a bedsheet with a lampshade on her head, and he would barely raise an eyebrow. 

Laughing to herself at the thought, Augusta pushed it aside to finish dressing before sitting on the stool at the vanity table, using a wipe to remove the day-old makeup. 

Staring at her fresh-faced appearance, Augusta looked at the countless jars and little pots and tubes of makeup used daily to make her face appear flawless. 

Fortunate to have small pores, well-rested eyes and a natural arch to her eyebrows, Augusta studied the countless creams and powders she was made to wear daily from the day she turned fourteen. 

It was a woman’s duty to look beautiful for her male company. To be something attractive at all times. Well presented and elegant and delicate as a flower petal with no exceptions. 

A tiring and arduous process to commit to early every morning. 

Expected to wake long before their husbands or male family members put themselves together, Augusta was woken at four in the morning every morning for the last three years to be primped and primed for the day by maids or by her own hands. 

Picking up the moisturiser and staring at its ingredients that claimed to make skin brighter and dewy and a guaranteed way to keep a man attracted to a woman who wore it, Augusta snorted before flicking it back on the table and picked up the hairbrush. 

It took only a moment to arrange her hair, a sense of freedom coming with allowing it to be down and natural in its curled state. 

Pleased that getting ready took no more than ten minutes compared to the usual hour or two, Augusta left the bedroom to brush her teeth. 

Head down slightly to peek through the bannister, Augusta could hear the faint whisper of the radio which was finely tuned to a station that was pure music and not the daily speeches of the Empires greatness or telling the news of yet another person in the lower classes being tried for a crime or found murdered in a back alley street. 

The change was welcome and less daunting to listen to than the daily dose of misery dressed up as standard everyday occurrences. 

Sadly, it was an everyday thing that some poor soul was found dead under suspicious circumstances that would never be looked into with more than a glance if it even held an inkling to involve those of pure status. 

Kilverney’s role as a detective only extended into limited jurisdiction. The police force he worked within handled anything from theft to murder, providing it did not involve anyone of pure statuses. 

Those cases were handled by the Gestapo selectively. 

If a person held enough power of influence, the Gestapo would choose someone in the lower ranks of society to take the blame, and no one, not ever, questioned it. 

Staring at her reflection in the mirror above the sink while running the toothbrush around her teeth, Augusta tried to fathom what life was truly like for those who lived in constant fear. 

When Augusta was Ludwig’s wife, she had lived like that also. Terrified of what mood Ludwig would be in when he woke or came home or drank too much during dinner. 

It was a different sort of fear, though—a singular perpetrator rather than a whole system dedicated to creating it. 

Pushing the thought to the very back of her mind, Augusta rinsed her mouth and without another inspection of her reflection left the bathroom and headed downstairs, her stomach in the slow rumbling of hunger. 

Coming to the end of the stairs, the kitchen was on the left. To the right was the room Kilverney told Augusta on her first day never to enter. 

Speaking as they had that morning about his origins. The place he called home. Augusta considered that something relating to the place he called Ireland lay behind the door. 

Curiosity rousing further than before now that she had just started to sink her teeth into what the anonymous writer of the letter loosely detailed. Augusta could feel her desire to try and sneak a peek inside rising. 

Maybe one day in the week when Kilverney left for work Augusta could take a little look what was behind the door? 

“Don’t even think about it.” Came sternly from the kitchen, and with it, a soft thump like something was placed down. 

Jumping for a second time since waking, Augusta’s heel clipped the lip of the step, and she sucked in a breath when it pulsed painfully. 

Rubbing the sore spot Augusta glanced up when the kitchen's doorframe creaked, and she found Kilverney resting on it while peeking down at her with a small tut and wagging of a finger. 

“I wasn’t thinking about it.” Augusta placed her foot down and with a short huff pushed back her hair where it fell over her shoulder.

Kilverney was not convinced, and his head cocked a little more so that it rested on the frame. “It’s written all over your face.” Countering her with a short but knowing smile, Kilverney stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Going to wait until I am at work, right?” 

Watching the way Kilverney smiled with full knowledge that he sussed Augusta’s idea to do a little exploring when he was gone, she returned a smile that she hoped portrayed innocence when she spoke. 

“On the contrary,” Augusta crossed her arms while standing a little taller even though she was a great deal shorter than him. “The irregularity of your coming and going would make it highly unlikely I would be able to get in and out without being caught.” Something Augusta did not actually consider until she said it, she steamed on regardless. “It would be foolish even to try.” 

Giving her best argument with no sign or hint that Kilverney bought a single thing she said, Augusta didn’t like how he merely looked her over with a smile and a shake of the head before he rolled off the door frame and padded back inside the kitchen. 

Augusta knew he didn’t buy any of it even if he didn’t say it. Kilverney was not a stupid man, and he certainly would not be fooled by the fair reasoning she presented. 

“What time did you wake up, anyway?” Augusta asked while following after him, moving to take the kettle and fill it up, Augusta noticed the table was baring a pile of unopened letters. They were all addressed to her. 

Kilverney picked up the mug he was likely previously holding before coming to the door, and he sipped at it while nudging the envelopes for Augusta’s attention when he said: “About an hour ago.” With a poor effort to contain his yawn. 

By the red in his eyes and their puffiness, Augusta could tell he hadn’t actually slept much at all. Filling the kettle and setting it back on its stand, Augusta chose not to query it further. 

Likely there was a reason he looked dead on his feet, hair pinging up at odd angles at the back when he turned around, but she would not question it. 

Preparing to make tea, Augusta picked up the letters, scouring the stamps that marked the top right corner and indicated where they were sent from, she stopped on one that was missing it. 

There was an obvious difference in that letter to the rest and not purely because it was missing the location stamp, but that the front's handwriting was familiar. 

Wary of opening it while in the company, Augusta briefly forgot that Kilverney, not Ludwig, and her sudden panic over it being in her hand died down in time with the whistling of the kettle. 

Tossing down the rest in favour of the one that bore the handwriting of the first letter that left her curious of the history of the world, Augusta pried it open and slipped out the single folded paper. 

Slipping a finger under the first fold to push it up, Augusta frowned when the letters and words were jumbled with strange little markings above some of them. 

It was in an entirely different language. 

Opening it up fully, Augusta found a single sentence at the very bottom that she could read. 

_Gib das, Jonathan._

Surprised entirely, Augusta considered that the writer of the letter could know Kilverney personally. The language used totally unreadable for Augusta’s eyes she felt compelled almost to hand it over, but she didn’t. Not right away. 

“Do you know anything about The Silenced?” Augusta tried to be casual in asking. Like it was an everyday topic. 

The smash of the cup that fell from Kilverney’s hand became apparent that it was not. The colour almost completely drained from his face when she asked, and he turned a stare like a terrified owl on her. 

Biting her lip, Augusta lifted the letter with caution “This is for you.” 

Considering it once on the first day they met that Kilverney might have been the author of the letter sent to Augusta the day she left Ludwig, his reaction told her enough that her thinking was wrong. 

The utter shock and fright and a wince of uncertainty in Kilverney’s eyes were enough to tell Augusta that her mentioning, even knowing, about The Silenced was a dangerous thing. 

A piece of information that should never have been in her hand even though she knew absolutely nothing beyond the name about them. 

“Who told you about them?” Kilverney’s voice trembled and wobbled, and he eyed the letter with a great fearfulness. 

The look on his face was uncomfortable. It left an ache in her chest that a simple two words could strike so much fear into one man, and she shook her head. Wanting to quickly change the way Kilverney was staring to something far more relaxed and pleasant to see. 

“Before I came here someone wrote me a letter. Told me what I knew of the world was not true. It was signed by The Silenced, The Forgotten, The Unknown and The Unborn.” Summarising swiftly, placing complete faith in Kilverney at that moment that he could be trusted to know about the letter, Augusta held out the one in her hand again. “Now they’ve sent me this.” She turned the paper over and held it up, showing it to him. “Specifically to give to you.” Tapping the only part she could read at the very bottom, she was not surprised when he snatched it out her hand. 

Eyes scattering back and forth over the letter. Turning it over. Rereading it. Turning it again. The pattern continued for a good few more minutes until, suddenly, Kilverney walked over to the cooker and lit one of the hobs. Burning the letter until it was nothing but ash. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that what was within the letter could not be found by another. 

Watching Kilverney’s whole demeanour change again. Return to a sense of peace. Augusta stared at the segments of ashen paper that littered the hob and mourned the loss of the chance to read it for herself. 

Why was this person now writing letters to Kilverney through Augusta? 

Aware that all post except that of the government officials and the Royal houses was read and checked before being sent onwards, Augusta surmised that she was being used as a go-between for this person to contact Kilverney. 

“I have thought it was strange from the second I was told you would be coming here,” Kilverney turned slowly to face Augusta. No longer whitewashed and scared but unsure and suspicious again of her. 

“That you. A person of pure status and a Royal house would be made to marry way below your station.” Kilverney’s manner was no longer relaxed but again how he was when they met on the doorstep. Annoyed by her being there, wanting her gone. 

Augusta didn’t like it. The complete backtracking of their relationship. The small slither of harmony they had found being undone by a simple letter that seemingly left Kilverney thinking it was some conspiracy or set up that she was there. 

“You’re far too closely watched, even for a high flight risk.” Kilverney encroached a step, eyes flicking around and over Augusta’s face like he was seeking out something that would confirm whatever it was he was thinking. “Why?” 

The question was not an odd one only in the way it was raised. 

Why was Augusta being followed and watched for closer than even a woman who was considered high risk of running away? 

They were there every time Augusta left the house. Appearing out of thin air and tracking her every move. Augusta even thought it odd how many patrols were about when she had to rescue Kilverney from public ridicule when he was far too drunk to make it back alone. 

“I don’t know,” Augusta answered honestly and with complete conviction. There was nothing that Augusta could think of that would be a reason for her to be watched like she was. “I honestly don’t.” 

Kilverney’s brow creased like he was conflicted. Wanting to believe Augusta was wholly honest while wary of allowing his guard down and accept it as the truth. 

“Jonathan. I don’t know anything about why I am being followed or why I was sent here, or if someone has an agenda behind it all.” Augusta tried to articulate clearly that she was hiding nothing. That she was not some mole sent in to unravel a great threat to the Empire or see harm done to Kilverney or anyone he knew. “I know nothing. Literally nothing.” 

The saddest part of it all was the complete truth in the final part of her small speech. Learning what she did that morning about Kilverney and where he hailed from proved that Augusta truly did know nothing about the world. 

Kilverney showed that he wanted to believe what she was telling him, but his guard was back up again. Though not entirely. 

Frustration marred his handsome face, and he clenched his hands into fists over and over while he stood in a such a way that it seemed one wrong sound or moved from Augusta would send him running out the door. 

What on earth could have been in that letter to make Kilverney this way? 

Wary but determined, Augusta took a careful hold on one of Kilverney’s balled up hands. He flinched at first. Tried to retract it much like he did the very morning they met and she forced his hand down from waving at everyone. 

Rubbing the knuckles and trying to work out the tension in his hand, Augusta moved closer, holding eye contact the whole time, she was not sure how he would take it, but she tried regardless and softly laid her hand on his face. 

At first, Kilverney’s head reared back, and the suspicion and frustration that came over him leapt away to be replaced with complete and open surprise, but it didn’t deter her, and she tried again to cup his face within the palm of her hand. 

He let her the second time. He even laid a little in the palm, accepting the soft contact and stroke of her thumb when it brushed his cheek. 

“I swear I am not hiding anything from you.” Augusta kept to a low and soft tone, her smile small but open. “Whatever is going on, I have no role within.” Trying to assure him that she was an innocent party to whatever was going on around them, Augusta didn’t hide the relief of her smile when Kilverney let go of his doubt over her in a deep and long sigh. 

“I know.” Kilverney rubbed his temple with a thumb. “Sorry to say it. You lack the brains for any subterfuge.” A sly grin spread his mouth and relaxed it from its pinched state. 

Augusta’s previous worry becoming relief swiftly was overshadowed by the insult of her intellect, and she started to take away her hand with a scowl on her face. 

Kilverney stopped the withdrawal of the hand on his face by cupping over it, bringing to closer to his cheek, he pressed a small kiss on her wrist while holding her attention with the way he was looking at her. 

“Forgive my cantankerous old man attitude.” Kilverney’s attempt of an apology was hindered softly by the fact he was grinning. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone in the way I have let you, and this world has made me even more cynical than I was before.” He explained himself a little. “It’s a second instinct for me to doubt the intentions of people, I can’t help that.” 

Hearing Kilverney’s explanations, Augusta could grasp a little why he would be that way with the eye-opening of the world she had since meeting him. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally.” Augusta hoped she conveyed it strongly enough even with her voice being swallowed up by her nervousness. 

Kilverney was possibly the most honest and genuine person Augusta ever met. Even with his old man moaning habits. 

Looking up at the exact moment Kilverney leaned in like he intended to kiss her forehead, Augusta caught his silent second long debate with himself before he gently crooked a finger beneath her chin, angling her head up a little further to touch a soft and careful kiss on her lips. 

Expecting it to be a short one, Augusta tried not to smile too much when Kilverney lingered, and a hand came lightly around her back, encouraging her closer. Augusta stepped forward, pushing up a little on the tips of her toes to keep Kilverney from becoming uncomfortable with how far he needed to come down to reach her lips. 

Deciding that the morning they shared was purely a case of relieving sexual frustration, and not to get her hopes up that the spark of attraction she held for Kilverney was more than one-sidedness, Augusta’s heart again was in a soft galloping beat when he refused to break their kiss. 

Expecting at most for them to find friendship in their arranged marriage, Augusta gladly - and a little giddily - accepted that they were both inclined for more than that to come from it. 

A few seconds more passed until Kilverney broke away and they both took little gasps of air. Sticking close and hardly moving an inch, Kilverney’s eyes were half-lidded when he murmured: “I care about you too.” 

* * *

  


* * *


	16. Charming

* * *

There was an enjoyable simplicity to keeping a home. To take care of space and appreciate the little or many things it held.

Three months ago the house Augusta shared with Kilverney was a dilapidated place one touch away from collapse. Now it was quaintly furnished and decorated. Returned to life and give a new lease on it.

Finding the cleaning therapeutic when Augusta first came to live in Kilverney’s home and a way to pass the hours and stave off boredom it slowly developed into a daily routine.

A routine that coincided with taking care of Kilverney.

From the beginning, Kilverney was cagey and aloof when Augusta informed him breakfast was waiting, or dinner would be in the microwave for later. Digging his heels in to accept the subtle changes Augusta made to his life and how he lived it.

It took time, slow progressive steps to come to the point they were at then. Where Kilverney would come into the kitchen and ask what was for breakfast. Ask what Augusta was going to do for the day while he was at work. Likewise, Augusta started to ask small things like what he wanted for dinner if he needed anything, how work was.

Those simple little things about looking after a home and what lived within that Augusta found joy.

To be wanted, needed. To hold more purpose to someone beyond something to look at and sleep with.

Augusta liked that Kilverney was touch starved. Affection something his life was missing for a long time. Augusta liked it because it made every tiny interaction tender, curious and unsure. Like they were born new to the concept and finding their way around each other while discovering how to enjoy each other.

Kilverney was from a generation where genuine intimacy was a thing. Not something that came over time because it was circumstances that led to it.

Taking all that Kilverney was willing to give, Augusta respected that even with their opening up to each other, there were still things Kilverney was not ready to speak about.

The letter was a no go conversation, and Kilverney became insistent that Augusta forgot what snippets she knew of the world before the German Empire. Augusta refused to forget and chose instead to bide her time for a later point for Kilverney to open up further. Maybe try and seek out someone who would talk. Search among archives and old documents to find out what they could teach her.

Augusta was determined to learn who The Silenced were and why they were reaching out to her.

The only issue was that Augusta didn’t know where to start. 

Who could Augusta speak to when everyone clammed up in fear when asked about the years before the German Empire came to power? 

Lost how to move forward, Augusta took the bacon and eggs she was cooking out the pan, laying them on the plate with the fresh bread. 

A pot of tea prepared and steeping, Augusta took the plates to the table and stopped. 

Kilverney was standing in the doorway with an off look on his face. Like something was troubling him deeply. 

“I haven’t poisoned it.” Making the joke to bring an end to the way Kilverney was looking at her, a minuscule smile crossed her lips. 

Kilverney stopped rubbing the thumb over his temple and shook off the doorframe he was leaning. “That wasn’t a thought that crossed my mind until you said it.” He paced around the table and with reluctance sat down. 

Frowning over the response, Augusta sat down slowly. Watching while Kilverney poured himself a tea, adding a few lumps of sugar and stirring it. 

“Then what was on your mind?” Augusta took the teapot, waiting to find out what was bothering Kilverney. 

There was a pinch in his face, and it was clear that what he was thinking before sitting down was something he did not wish to share. 

That bothered Augusta more than anything. 

It felt like everyone and everything needed to be kept in secrets. Nothing willingly and openly shared. Closed off and unwelcome to strangers. 

Augusta wasn’t a stranger. At least Augusta didn’t want to be a stranger to the inner thoughts Kilverney held. She wanted to know what ticked through his mind. She wanted to know who he was beyond the surface that she was only starting to skim. 

Filling his mouth with tea and bacon and bread, Kilverney stared at Augusta across the table. Watching every single thing, she did how she watched him too. 

Another gulp of tea Kilverney’s mouthful was swallowed, and he set down the knife and fork on the sides of the plate. 

“If you truly want to know,” He rested his arms on the table, stretched forward thumb brushing crumbs from his fingers. “I was thinking about how strange this is.” A single finger flicked back and forth, pointing to the cooked breakfast, at them. “How comfortable this is becoming.” He went a little further into detail. “How comfortable I am with you being here. Acting the part of a little housewife.” 

Setting down the teacup with a small thump, Augusta dropped Kilverney’s gaze. The sudden directness making her uncomfortable she squirmed a bit in the chair. 

“Well...” Augusta’s voice became swallowed in her nervousness, and she needed to suck in a fresh breath before attempting to speak again. “Is that a bad thing?” She turned back to Kilverney. Wanting to catch every detail of his face and not allow him a chance to be polite in his answer. 

The chair creaked when Kilverney sat back, one eyebrow shooting up he observed Augusta for a while before shaking his head and turning away his mouth opening before closing with a pinch. 

Tilting to the side in the chair when Kilverney stayed quiet far longer than she liked, Augusta caught how he looked at her in the corner of his eye. A state of conflict and uncertainty masking his face. 

Did Kilverney find being comfortable with her a bad thing? 

Sitting back and straight, Augusta decided not to press for an answer. The idea that he would say it was a terrible thing or worse sinking her chest into her stomach, leaving her a little sick and killing her appetite. 

Sipping the tea slowly to fill the quiet that descended, Augusta let her eyes fall on the table cloth. It was simple and white. Plain. Nothing to write home about, but how she imagined Kilverney was going, summing up where they were in that moment. 

Simple, insignificant, unnecessary since the excitement of it being there ended. 

It left Augusta, thinking she deeply misread the small interactions they shared. That maybe she looked too deeply at them and saw only what she wanted to see. Maybe Kilverney was indulging Augusta to pass the time. 

“The only thing that is bad about it is how much I like it.” Kilverney’s tone was gruff, annoyed, embarrassed maybe? 

Whichever it was it still drew Augusta’s head up and her eyes fixing on his. 

Trying not to smile too much but wanting to when the sinking of her chest ended, Augusta started to chew on the inside of her cheek. Willing her words to come forth but unable to while she was sure they would be a deluge of giddiness. 

Kilverney sat with both hands pressed on his thighs, back straight like someone stuck a metal rod up his shirt, and he didn’t blink at all when he stumbled over his words. 

“Loo-I—hm...Jesus stops staring at me.” Kilverney was flustered, and there was a rouge tint on his cheeks. “I like it. Ok? I like this...thing? This thing we have.” His hands came up, and they spread out when he shrugged like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I like you.” He mumbled while folding his arms stiffly and again turned away. 

Almost dropping the teacup, Augusta managed to save it from the fall by an inch. Chest in a furious flurrying beat and stomach losing its sickness by the flutter that filled it, Augusta placed her hands in her lap when she found herself not knowing what to do with them. 

Kilverney admitted that he cared about her, but Augusta didn’t look behind his words any more than simply being a friendly thing. 

His admitting that he liked her and how flustered he became after suggested that his intention was more than a friendly one. 

At least, Augusta believed it that way. 

Ending the odd unsure tension that filled the kitchen with a gentle clearing of her throat, Augusta didn’t quite look at Kilverney when she mumbled back: “I like you too.” 

Thinking that Kilverney would relax a little once it was known the topic of their conversation was mutually felt, Augusta didn’t think at all that he would spring out the chair in his surprise only to catch his foot and trip over. 

Starting to stand as she would help somehow, it became a wince and a flinch when Kilverney hit the floor with a loud thump and a rushing burst of air like he winded himself. 

Standing still for a second, stunned by the reaction, Augusta jumped back when Kilverney popped up again like he was a jack in the box. A grin plastered across his face that was no less embarrassed as it was sarcastic when he declared “Well, of course, you would. I’m a charming little bastard.” That was laced so heavily by his accent that it wasn’t sarcastic but hilarious to hear. 

Turning a meek smile on Kilverney when he continued to grin, Augusta couldn’t help but find him endearing at that moment, and she agreed with him for just that second that he was indeed charming. 

* * *


	17. Workplace

* * *

Unlike those of purer statuses which could choose where to work and what sector to work in, those of lower statuses were told where to work.

Denied chances to gain proper education most ended up in factories or on farms doing the hard labour and dangerous jobs vital but considered lowly work.

Paid in food allowances and hours converted into rent, many people barely scraped a life let alone a living.

Before being wed to Jonathan, there was no need to worry about work. Ludwig was the one who earned money even though Augusta was far from poor. Now that Augusta was not Ludwig’s wife, it seemed the government wanted to put her to work.

It was a simple desk job—a secretarial position at Berlin’s police station. Answering phones and taking messages while also bringing some order to the office she was assigned. The pay was handsome for a wife of someone of impure status. A hundred Reichsmark a week was close to triple the wage Jonathan earned.

A tiny detail Augusta didn’t wish to divulge but decided it was best not to hide when she handed Jonathan the letter on a Friday evening it arrived.

Augusta was being assigned to the office Jonathan worked in, and she wanted to know if he was fine with it.

Jonathan took the news with little more than a shrug and passing the letter back.

Spending the weekend sorting out an appropriate work attire, Augusta noticed how quiet Jonathan was when he came home and even in the mornings since the letter arrived. Thinking that he disliked having his workplace invaded by the very woman who invaded his home some months ago, Augusta tried not to overthink it.

Augusta would have to keep her head down and work quietly while at the station not to draw any negative attention. Heading into a workplace that the entire workforce was of impure status would undoubtedly see a target painted on her back from the second she put her foot in the door.

In a place where it was no one but those of the mistreated status, Augusta was in a Lion’s den. They could do and say as they wished with little fear of repurchase due to the overwhelming weight, it would be of her word against theirs. Augusta’s status lost its power in the sheer volume of those who would deny everything if someone did something to her.

A worrisome thought to start a new job with, but a reality that needed to be faced and accepted.

Entering the station on Jonathan’s heels, Augusta was surprised to find the building was not in complete squalor. It was well kept. Impressionable. Well decorated and lit. There were even potted plants and comfortable chairs in the front lobby.

"We are a public service." Jonathan kept a low volume while he signed in at the front desk before handing the clipboard over to Augusta. "This is superficial." He grumbled, taking the clipboard away from Augusta when she placed the pen down, and his brow creased when he read her neat looping signature. “You spelt your last name wrong.” He tapped the sheet and handed it back. 

Thinking that Augusta might have blundered and signed her old married name she furrowed her brow on seeing she’d used her maiden name. Tilting away from the board Augusta looked up, and Kilverney stared back, rocking on his heels like that was clue enough. 

Augusta didn’t get it at all. So she placed the board back in her hand, staring at it. 

“Kilverney?” Someone called from further down the lobby, taking Jonathan’s attention in time so Augusta could hide the flush of her cheeks. 

Augusta’s married name was now Kilverney. Which meant it was her officially recognised name. 

With Jonathan stepping away to speak with the person who called for him, Augusta made a quick correction on the signing in sheet before sliding it back over the front desk. The man behind the desk smiled while Jonathan was standing with Augusta but now sneered down at her. 

Knowing not to expect the warmest of welcomes, Augusta placed down the pen with a small “Thank you.” And stepped away to join Jonathan and the man he was conversing with. 

Augusta was in time to hear the tailing end of the talks. 

“...So low and behold who we have in our cells for sexual assault.” The man grinned for some reason, not a glimpse of disgust for the topic he was speaking. 

Jonathan stood with his hands, shoved deep in his pockets. His back to Augusta when he asked. “Who?” 

The man leaned in towards Jonathan with a huge smile. "Ludwig Von Trapp." Then clapped Jonathan's shoulder with a bark of laughter. "He's got a rap sheet long as my arm, so we are pushing for indefinite incarceration." There was no denying that the man was ecstatic over the news. "The judge doesn't even have to host trial since he dropped to our status." Again he clapped Jonathan's shoulders, wiping under his eye when a single tear dropped. " He doesn't have his whore of a wife to provide an alibi this time either." The man stepped back, "So I was going to let you have the honour of taking him in. Break-even with the bastard for when he stabbed you last year."

Chest pounding at the mention of Ludwig's name it came to a complete halt when the man mentioned that Ludwig stabbed Jonathan sometime in the previous year and provided with an alibi by his wife. 

Not needing to think long or hard over who the man was speaking of, or who he was deemed a whore, Augusta's fingers pinched her lips together when the memory of a night a few months after her wedding to Ludwig when he came home. Shirt and hands stained in blood. Demanding that if the police came that Augusta told them Ludwig was with her all night. 

Augusta did as she was told. Too scared to say otherwise she remembered with clarity the looks in the eyes of the policeman who questioned her. Pure, unadulterated hate. There was no blaming them for the way they looked at Augusta that night, and she could tell they were angry when they left. Were it not for fear of being at the end of another of Ludwig's explosive rages, Augusta would have told them the truth. 

To think the man Ludwig stabbed, Jonathan only made the guilt she harboured root itself deeper into her being. Letting go of her mouth only to cup her neck and turn away when she paused, glowering at Jonathan's back when he took out a hand and jabbed his thumb over a shoulder to ask "You mean this whore?" 

Aghast that Jonathan would even say such a thing, Augusta's lips fluttered angrily for only a moment before they snapped shut. Jonathan was not finished speaking with the man who cocked to the side suddenly, with a glare that was starting to become familiar. 

"Allow me to introduce you to Mrs Kilverney. The ex-wife of Ludwig on the grounds of domestic battery." Jonathan lowered the hand, letting it cup his chin. "And yes, she's as young as she looks." He was sarcastic as ever when he conversed with the man who was still without a name. Though how we were looking at Augusta changed a little, only to shock. 

Standing behind Jonathan but feeling wide open and bare-skinned when he detailed loosely the volatile year and a bit she was married to Ludwig a hand closed around her coat's collar. She didn't want anyone to know about the shameful matter that led to her being on Ludwig's doorstep. Not when the man showed a complete lack of tact when he asked "I thought she was carrying Von Trapp's brat?" with a poignant look at the post-pregnancy stomach Augusta held. Except it was not a post-partum body, she possessed. Only one that never gave birth. 

Jonathan clucked his tongue, but he responded to the question. "Von Trapp saw to it that his own child wasn't about to be born and draining his finances for the next eighteen years." 

Reminded once more of that afternoon, Augusta willed the ground to open up and swallow her whole especially when she started to wobble on her feet, a sickness clawing through her gut at the painful reminder that she should have been seven months pregnant. 

The man started to stutter something but stopped when Jonathan clapped a hand on his shoulder. Much like the man did to Jonathan only a few minutes prior. “Remember we are detectives, not journalists. Check your facts before you run your mouth based on hearsay and whispers in the tea room.” He squeezed the man’s shoulder, tightly. 

The man gulped and swallowed for air with a mumbled: “Sorry, sir.” Before dipping his head towards Augusta as if to say sorry to her also. 

Were it not for the agonising reminder of the child she lost, Augusta would have accepted it. On this occasion, Augusta blanked him. 

As far as first days could go, Augusta deemed this was the worst possible way to start. Her personal affairs dragged out in the open with a stranger who would willingly deem her a whore rather than take a chance to understand the situation she was in when the police came to her door so many months ago. 

Being of a pure status did not mean life was any easier. Sometimes, it was worse. 

“This way.” Jonathan pointed in a direction that Augusta did not care even to look, her outlook gloomy for how the day would proceed, she followed, but it was reluctant. 

Even though Jonathan did, in an exposing way, defend Augusta, there was a wish that he had not brought two very delicate matters up that no doubt would be circulated the station before lunchtime. 

Augusta didn’t want pity or, what she suspected would be the case, for anyone to think she had it coming. Augusta could see it in the looks of the people she passed that no friends would be found in the police station's walls. They pegged her as a pure German that she came from the lap of luxury and ignorance. 

Augusta didn’t even care for her pride when she put her head down and avoided their piercing stares. She wanted to get the day over with and leave. 

Traipsing down a set of steps into a gloomily lit corridor, Augusta tucked back a few loose strands of hair and lifted her head when she noticed Jonathan stopped. 

Wondering if they were outside the room she would be working, Augusta looked at the door and froze over the plaque hanging limply by w single rusted nail in its middle. 

“The Archives?” Augusta murmured, unsure why they were stood outside the archiving room. 

Jonathan twisted a little, moving side to side before he nodded to the door while holding up a key. 

“If you actually want to retract your alibi for Von Trapp.” Jonathan’s lips became thin around his teeth. “We can push for a public execution.” 

Staring at the key and the door, heart in her throat, Augusta met Jonathan’s calm as a summer day look with a bug-eyed stare. 

Was this Jonathan’s want for vengeance? 

* * *


	18. Absolution

* * *

Sitting behind a desk stacked so high with papers it was impossible to glimpse the large office, Augusta fingered the edge of the file taken from the archives. It was Ludwig’s. Inside the short statement made by Augusta clearing Ludwig of the allegation, he stabbed Jonathan while acting drunk and disorderly.

Ludwig Von Trapp no longer held high status among society and faced an indefinite time in prison for sexually assaulting a young woman. There would be no trial or jury to decide the outcome, only a judge. A judge was willing to lay public execution on the table if Augusta withdrew her statement and admitted to perjury.

A two thousand Reichsmark fine incurred for the wilful admittance of perverting the course of justice and Augusta paid it without a blink. There was no shame or guilt upon Augusta’s conscious over pushing for Ludwig’s death; it was rightful comeuppance.

With no trial to take place, the fine settled and a new statement drafted, Ludwig was taken before the judge only to be told the verdict and that he would hang until death. There was no sparing courtesy to allow Ludwig to settle personal affairs or meet with the family. The sentence was passed, and Ludwig was taken to die in what came to be called hangman’s square.

Far from being a square, it was a ghoulish alleyway where the convicted were left to rot on public display.

A celebratory crowd gathered around the gallows to watch Ludwig Von Trapp hang; it was revolutionary.

Ludwig was the first man to be executed from the echelon of pure status in seventeen years. It was a tremendous moment for the people who were classed impure. A reason to cheer and congratulate; the office was the epitome of the two.

Hiding behind the stacks of paper, it didn’t stop Augusta catching the toasting of cheap plastic cups filled with alcohol stolen from the evidence lockup. The slurred speech of men who delighted morbidly over the execution.

Papers knocked and whipping about when someone clipped the desk, Augusta let them fall. Vision no longer blocked a full view of the partying dazzled Augusta’s eyes. How cruelly, deliriously happy they smiled perturbed Augusta.

Ludwig was a malicious person, but he was still someone’s son, a brother; a twin.

A twin who Augusta was intimately familiar with; Otto was her first true love; if she was honest.

Jumping when a hand thumped the desk, sending more papers flitting, Augusta’s fright became a partial smile when Jonathan’s whiskey glazed eyes crinkled from the hugest grin; he looked so happy.

“You’re drunk.” Augusta could tell by how loosely Jonathan stood; swaying.

Jonathan’s grin only grew. “I am.” Eyes half-lidded, he balanced himself on the handles of Augusta’s chair. A slow forward tilt and their heads butted gently. “I am also horrendously lucking—lacking,-“ he paused with a frown after correcting himself. “I right, I think I was...” Jonathan laughed at himself with a backward stagger, only staying upright when Augusta caught his hands, bringing him back. 

Jonathan stumbled over Augusta’s toes when he came closer; she didn’t mind. Not when Jonathan made a softly hushed: “Don’t tell my wife that I’m drunk.” With a finger pressed sloppily to his lips. 

Laughing over the apparent drink induced amnesia, Augusta‘s prior concerns over how Otto was handling his twin brother's death were left alone while dealing with, Jonathan. 

All Augusta’s worries and woes of the day escaped mind or thought when Jonathan inched closer and in a softer whisper professed.

“I love my wife.” 

* * *


	19. Death March

* * *

The marching of their boots was enough to know who was coming down the hall. Ending the drinking and celebrating with panic and white-faced fear the men in the investigation room scattered to hide their contraband and partake in it. 

Moving rapidly and in perfect tandems to hide everything, Kilverney’s prior drunkenness became total sobering. At the same time, he directed the men with silence to their desks and to keep their heads down.

It was only Kilverney left standing and Augusta when the doorway burst open and filed the grim grey suits of the Schutzstaffel. The rune SS on their stark black collars rippling under the dim lighting along with the skull and wings above the eagle that identified them as the Einsatzgruppen; the kill squad of the Schutzstaffel; Otto Von Trapp pushing through from the back to stand front and centre; arm raised. 

The rifles were primed and at the ready, waiting the fall of Otto’s arm to fire on the men who sat like petrified rabbits at their desks.

“Stand down!” Augusta took a chokehold on her fear to keep it from the strength of her order. 

Otto’s fingers flinched when Augusta shouted, and it became apparent that he was unaware of her presence in the office when his eyes lost their steel and took on surprise. The men aiming their tools of senseless destruction of life turning an eye onto Augusta; curious as they were alarmed. 

“Am I right to assume you’re here to enact revenge for the death of a Schmutz, Von Trapp?” Augusta stood at the back of the room, but she stood tall and poised. “That on its own is punishable by death by the man who ordered it and those who partake in it.” Her eyes flicked to each man who held a rifle; there were twelve; she placed them under a number to remember each one.

Using the law created to damn the impure to protect them, Augusta couldn’t think about its irony, only that she needed to force the Einsatzgruppen to leave before another room of innocent men were dead. 

Otto shifted on his feet, and he came a step closer. “Your defence of them is enough to be shot.” He countered. “A punishment I don’t think will be befitting your end, your highness.” Surprise all but gone; Otto was condescendingly mocking. 

“How typical of you, Von Trapp. That you posture and threaten a tiny woman who is defenceless into your bidding.” Augusta somehow managed a smile. “Your shared personality traits with Ludwig are boundless it seems. Here I thought you would be the redeemable brother. Alas,” she sighed dramatically, “I was wrong.” 

Being compared again to Ludwig, it affected Otto, and he shouted at the men to lower their weapons before taking two stomping steps to stand and tower over Augusta.

The men in their grey uniforms lowered their guns and took a step back from the desks they covered. The only man left standing when they entered, barely breathing when the grim reaper that faced him withdrew.

Kilverney’s efforts to restore order to his men left him alone in the middle of the room when the Einsatzgruppen entered. Nowhere but the gun's muzzle to look at, Kilverney was freed to move a little, and Augusta could tell that he was looking over his shoulder as best he could without moving too much. 

Augusta couldn’t spare Kilverney any time when she was faced with Otto.

Eyes almost black in the dim lighting, Otto’s jaw was taut that he was forced to speak through his gritted teeth. “I am nothing alike to Ludwig.” With an undertone of pleading, like he wanted Augusta to retract her statement.

Augusta knew that Otto was nothing like Ludwig, but then, staring at the same face that tormented and brutalised her for fourteen months, Otto and Ludwig were the same. 

“Then stand down,” Augusta whispered, laying a hand on Otto’s chest. “Don’t lower yourself to his level. Please?” All prior confidence waned when she pleaded with Otto not to go ahead with his want for vengeance. 

Augusta’s hope for Otto to see reason and be rational was possibly selfishly motivated by Jonathan’s drunken confession moments ago. That Augusta wanted to know if Jonathan meant it or he was simply drunk and rambling. 

Otto’s throat swelled when he swallowed, the jaw fidgeting he seemed to lose the stiffness of his body when Augusta laid her other hand on his chest, leaning in closer to plead with him again in a tiny whisper. 

Bowing over until his head rested on Augusta’s, it came with a deep exhale and a harsh but somehow gentle grip on each shoulder. Otto lost the fire in him so rapidly that Augusta took no comfort and instead was warier than before. Otto was going to make the order and Augusta could feel it in her gut. So Augusta gambled on Otto’s own admittance that he was more than a little soft on her. 

“I will never forgive you.” Augusta let the single sentence pass her lips with complete conviction. Eyes confident and strongly conveying the message that Augusta meant it when Otto lurched back in surprise. 

Again Otto was angry, but it was of a different nature this time. 

“When did you become so cold?” Otto asked in a whisper, one hand leaving her shoulder to hold her chin, drawing Augusta into a slight tiptoe when he forced her head to come up and meet his.

Feet barely on the floor that Augusta was forced to hold Otto’s wrist to balance, a tiny smile crossed her lips. “When I realised loving you wouldn’t save me.” She uttered quietly. “When you abandoned me to suffer your brother over and over again.” Her voice cracked at the edges. “Only to be exactly like him when you would patch up my pieces to let him break them again.” 

Like Augusta burned his skin, Otto let her go, sending her stumbling a few steps to balance again.

Otto didn’t look at Augusta again, and he turned with much the same determination that he entered with to depart. 

The Einsatzgruppen hung back, giving each man who was spared death a smirk as if to say they got lucky this time. One broke from the rest to approach Augusta the lip of his cap peculiarly low over his eyes, hiding his face completely.

This man must have stayed hidden when the Einsatzgruppen entered because he made their numbers thirteen and not twelve like she originally counted.

Standing with false confidence, Augusta faced the man who stood over her. 

All Augusta could see beneath his cap was his smile. It was cold, astute, calculated. 

“The silenced are whispering.” He said in time with a flick of a gloved hand.

Blood running cold by the whisper of the man, Augusta’s heart clamped painfully when the room moved into action by the flick of the man’s hand. 

Guns produced from under desk space each one fired on the grim grey reapers who had no time to counter the barrage of bullets. 

In a matter of seconds, the Einsatzgruppen were dead, and Augusta was left with a smile, and a whispered: “Will you let the Silenced shout?” 

* * *


	20. Cleanse

* * *

Stripped of the rifles, knives and any useful equipment the Einsatzgruppen soldiers were left with only their uniforms when the police officers' was done.

Directed by the one who spoke to Augusta and maintained his identity's secret, the clean up was swift and deft of hand. A well-practised operation done a hundred times over.

There was a closed-off way in which each man moved. A quiet calm while handling dead men.

Watching from afar, standing on the outside like a spectre unseen, Augusta gripped the plastic mug filled with overly sweet tea like it would settle the shock of the executions. 

Augusta never saw a dead body before, and she never wanted to see another. 

Mug falling from Augusta’s hands she was out the door before it hit the floor. Fleeing the office with no regard for the fact the men behind were armed. Not even the shouted warning to stop slowed Augusta down, it urged her forward. 

Weaving between the policemen in the lobby who attempted to snatch hold of Augusta and detain her like the men who followed ordered, Augusta for the first time in her life blessed her shortness when she successfully ducked beneath a set of outstretched arms. 

There was no safety while Augusta was among the non-pure, and she finally held a taste of how they felt when faced with those considered pure. The fear that corroded the safety and left everything exposed to the danger. 

Augusta fell the last of the steps, scuffing and scraping her knees she didn’t stay down, adrenaline drowning the pain, she could only see blurry faces turning to look at the commotion she was causing. 

Checking the pockets for her ID while stepping into the heavy midday traffic, Augusta ignored the honking as she forced a taxi to stop. Rushing around to climb in the back, Augusta garbled the address after slapping the ID on the screen between the driver and backseat. 

There was no questions or complaints when the ruddy-faced man checked the ID. Only the repeat of the address to make sure it was correct. 

“Yes.” Augusta panted, ribs aching from the large breaths she was taking, a hand wiped angrily to clear her eyes, allowing her to catch the conflicted stare Jonathan turned on Augusta from the pavement. “Hurry.” She asked with a purposeful effort to look away. 

Unable to relax while the scenery of Berlin started to blur away into landscapes and fields, small and large country estates, Augusta clenched her fingers, teeth cutting into her lip from how hard she bit it to keep from blurting what she saw. 

Twelve men were dead. That was twelve mothers without sons. Twelve men who might have wives and children at home waiting for them to return. They never would. 

Was this the life of the non-pure? 

Never knowing if they would make it home? Who would survive the day?

Was violence only paid back with violence? 

Did Augusta play witness to years of oppression, anger, hurt and want for vengeance? 

Was this the currency of the world? 

Life for life? 

Death for death? 

Over and over the questions turned and tumbled and lost sense and purpose until Augusta was forced to see the world for what it was. 

Cruel. Violent. Oppressed. Angry. Vengeful. 

The man told Augusta that The Silenced were whispering then asked if she would let them shout. 

Augusta knew that speaking up was a death in itself and so was saying nothing. 

There was no winning or losing and still Augusta was standing at a crossroad where her actions in the second she left the taxi and stood on the doorstep of her childhood home could decide the lives of the men she met that morning. 

Augusta’s silence could save lives, and she only realised it when the door swung open, and she was dazed by the sight of the man who answered her knock. 

Dragged into a strong hug by her father a moment passed where Augusta stood stiffly in his embrace. Being held without questions or want for answers, Augusta understood there and then what her speaking out would cost. 

So she found an excuse to bleat into her father's shoulder. To explain away the misery, she turned up on his doorstep wearing—a pretence to disguise the truth.

“Ludwig is dead.” Augusta trembled over the words. “I thought I would be happy, but I’m not.” 

Gripping on tighter to her father’s shirt when he cupped the back of Augusta’s head and set a soft kiss on her forehead, it came with a sigh and with a smile, he said: 

“You have too much heart for monsters who have none, Kleiner Vogel.” 

* * *


	21. Lies in the Walls: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to Dianasaurus for your help with this chapter!!! 😘  
> You are a 🌟  
> 💕

* * *

The only sound was the rattle of broken china. There was not even a draw of breath since Augusta asked her father: "How can a person be deemed impure when Germany is the only place that exists?"

Richard dropped the cup while his skin lost colour. A sickly grey pallor coating his face Augusta watched panic, pain, and shame replace the warmth of his eyes. Mouth stuck half-open, Richard reached for the table edge for support before his legs gave out beneath him. Falling back into a chair with a severe pinch in his brow, Richard was shaking.

If it was out of fear or shock or anger was unclear; he tried to hide it behind a firm clearing of his throat.

In the hours that passed since arriving on the door of her childhood home, Augusta soothed the panic of her thinking to a determined mindset.

Believing that her father was the only person who would not lie or close off from Augusta’s questions she spent an hour or more trying to find the words to say, to gain an insight to a world that the Government was trying to erase through fear and doctoring history, she settled on the matter of impurity.

What Augusta saw that morning in the office of a police station was a snippet of the old world trying to create ripples in the stillness of the terror the new world ruled by.

If no one dared to speak or ask questions, then they became silenced. Either through fear or death.

The walls of the palace Augusta was born held all the answers she sought, and it was in the form of the man who helped create her. Who raised her with a kind heart and always with a smile.

Now Augusta watched that very same kind and doting man quiver in what was certainly anger and regret.

"I can’t answer that," Richard whispered and swiftly raised a hand when Augusta started to object. "Not because I can’t, but because I won’t." He was firm in his conviction, and the sturdiness of his refusal was frightening. When he looked upon Augusta, the brimming pain in his eyes acted like an impenetrable fortress to his mind. "You’re safer, never knowing. Your curiosity will literally get you killed, my Kleiner Vogel," he stood from the chair and without another look at her opened the door of the small study they were sitting in. "I refuse to play any part in that. I won’t." His voice was somehow weak but strong all at once, and it created a rasp in his words when he asked: "Please, look no further into it?" While still facing the corridor, his body tense between the shoulders that left him standing poker straight.

Assuming that her father would be more forthcoming though reserved to the question proved wrong. The sheer volume of refusal to even lightly or figuratively engage the conversation was never before seen from her father, and it left her speechless.

It lasted for only a second before Augusta swallowed her shock and murmured back: "I won’t." With a tiny nod though her father could not see it.

Watching the door close after her father left in a shaky rush, Augusta looked over the broken cup that littered the table. The tea dripping off the table, creating a little puddle beside her foot.

Would no one speak of the years before the German Empire?

Why was it such a taboo if their power was unrivalled?

What were they scared about happening if people spoke about the world and how it changed?

The questions only grew and grew, and not a single one could be answered when the people who knew were suppressed by fear.

Augusta understood fear. The sheer terror of the men in charge and those delegated power to maintain the masses' fear. The figurative cutting out of the people’s tongues to force their quiet. The cost their lives if they were caught even making a whisper. Augusta witnessed it first-hand many times over since living with Jonathan.

The part Augusta could not grasp, was why?

* * *


	22. Lies in the walls: II

* * *

Envy burned like a wildfire in Augusta’s chest, watching Florence cradle her newborn son. It reminded Augusta that she should have been due any day soon. That there was no small life waiting to meet the world within her.

Augusta hated how sharp and hot the tears were in the corners of her eyes while her lips hurt from forcing a smile.

Florence was positively glowing at being a mother again. Joyous and bright-eyed while gazing upon the small boy swaddled in blankets in her arms.

It was so bitter the taste of jealousy and mourning that no amount of sweetened tea would chase it away.

Augusta didn’t want to look at them. Didn’t want to hold the baby, and she refused when Florence asked.

It created an odd moment within the company being kept how abruptly Augusta refused; they forgot that Augusta lost her baby three months before.

Then it seemed like the penny dropped when Florence - after leaving her surprise - mumbled a quick apology and sat back down.

Augusta said nothing and only mentally extracted herself from the conversation. Sitting in polite silence beside her father while he spoke with Abbot and Florence, a hand attempted to hold Augusta’s it was shaken off. It was arduous enough not to cry. Holding her father’s hand would make it impossible not to break down.

There was an ache in Augusta’s body that went down to the bones. Reminding Augusta that a part of her was missing and that no amount of searching would bring it back.

Augusta thought she was ok. That she was passed the worst of it, that proved wrong when she needed to gulp down a breath when the baby started to cry in Florence’s arms, and the sound of it quivered her heart.

"Excuse me." Augusta sat forward suddenly and placed down the tea she was drinking, caring not for how sloppily it hit the table and spilt; she needed to get out of the room.

Ignoring the looks that flew around the small table, and Florence’s whispered: "Maybe we should leave?" To Abbot, a hand clawed the space that was vacant and hollow, her stomach flattened and no longer needed as a vessel to carry her child.

A second away from opening the door, Augusta was forced to reel back and bite over the ferocious tremble of her lips when a maid appeared and jumped backwards.

"Oh!" The maid startled. "I am terribly sorry, your highness!" Rapidly apologising, the maid was more relaxed than the staff at the castle Augusta lived with Ludwig. There was stressed importance that the staff were treated well by her father, letting them breathe easier.

"It’s ok." Augusta let go of her lip before she broke the skin. "Is something the matter?"

A smile graced the maids face, and there was a little twinkle in her eyes when she shuffled closer and, cupping one side of her face, whispered. "A rather cranky man is at the door asking for you." Her eyebrows raised. "A certain Detective."

Jonathan?

A whole week went by since Augusta fled the police station, and she made no effort to make contact with Jonathan.

Not even when two officers of the Schutzstaffel turned up on the palace doorstep to find out where Augusta was and check that she was not running away from her marriage did she return; not even when they advised that she would pay a fine if she did not go back.

Augusta became oddly contemptuous when they told her about that detail, and she tossed money at their feet with a sneered: "Treat yourself to new collars, mongrels." Before demanding they left. They did, and they took the Reichmarks with a polite tilt of their heads.

Warned by her father not to act up like that again, Augusta knew it was unwise, but she couldn’t retract it now.

"Why is he here?" Augusta asked once her surprise dissipated.

The maid stepped back and folded her hands neatly with a tiny shrug. "He wouldn’t tell me, your highness. Only that it was of utmost importance, he spoke with you."

If not for the situation of their last meeting, Augusta would have seen right through Jonathan’s words as an excuse; this time it felt like it was more accurate than he did need to talk with her.

Augusta wanted the distraction from her pain. Something else to refocus her mind. A reason to forget that she was not soon to be a mother.

"Thank you." Augusta forced a smile again onto her lips, lightly cupping the maid's elbow while stepping past.

Taking tea that morning in the main reception room, it was a short walk to where Jonathan was waiting, and Augusta was unprepared for the sudden elation of her heavy-hearted aching when she laid eyes on Jonathan.

Standing with obvious tension, Jonathan held his side in one hand while he almost gnawed on the other's thumb. There were evident stresses on his mind and a lack of sleep by the deep bruising under his eyes that almost hollowed them. His hair was flicked out at all angles, and his shirt was crumpled and sported a few coffee stains.

It took a second to remind herself that Jonathan was likely in such a dishevelled state due to his not knowing if Augusta was about to sell him and his colleagues to the Gestapo for their execution of the Einzatgruppen officers. Not that Jonathan was worried about where Augusta ran off to.

However, that illusion ended when Jonathan swung around to unveil what the cause of his state was. 

The bruising beneath his eyes were actual bruises; the hand he was biting the thumb of swollen and the knuckles scuffed and scraped. 

What was around Jonathan’s neck was the most unsettling thing and the ugly, livid twist of Jonathan’s mouth when he snapped: “Thanks for the collar, love.” In the heaviest sarcastic tone, Augusta ever heard only added to her confused worry. 

Jonathan was not withholding at all when, in two stomping - limping - steps he came to Augusta in his rage and humiliation. 

Augusta froze on the spot. Breathing quicker and stomach knotted. 

“I have spent the last five days in a detention camp accused of your murder. Two days ago I got given a present,-“ Jonathan emphasised his supposed present by pulling on the leather collar. “, From my darling wife who proclaimed my innocence and that I am a dog who needs muzzling!” Jonathan swung his hands above his head; Augusta flinched; it was almost second instinct; a rebirth of the fear Ludwig instilled in Augusta when they married. 

Recoiling when Augusta raised her arms protectively, Jonathan brought down his hands after the alarm subsided and realisation set in. 

Stuck, almost, in a perpetual terror over the idea that Jonathan was about to strike her, the stiffness in her body pinned her in place. 

Jonathan seemingly took offence to the way Augusta reacted, but his words came with a strong conviction. 

“I have never hit a woman in my life.” Jonathan tugged again at the collar, averting his eyes to the wall. “I am not about to start now.” He nodded as if to back up his statement only to mumble: “Even if I am mad as hell.” 

Trying to calm. To soothe away the roused memories and tell herself that Jonathan was not like Ludwig, her chest squeezed agonisingly tight from the shortness of her breathing.

Taking slow and deep inhales to relax, Augusta’s thoughts became fuzzy and uncoordinated from the effort to remind herself that Jonathan was not going to harm her; that he was angry but safe.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan mumbled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” There was an evident concern that he had. “It’s been one hell of a rough week.” He slumped a little, losing the rigour to stand in a tired stoop. “Since those goose steppers came barging through our door at three in the bloody morning I—!” His accent started to appear within the anger of his speech, and he looked around with wide and wary eyes; nervous of who heard it. 

All Augusta truly noticed was that Jonathan called the house they lived in. He didn’t say his, or mine, but ours. It let Augusta relinquish the tension in her body, in her chest, and she smiled over it. 

“You’re safe here,” Augusta told Jonathan, assured that the people who lived and worked within the Palace were like Jonathan or sympathised with the impure. “You don’t have to hide your accent.” She glimpsed up and swiftly looked away. It was hard to look upon Jonathan in his state whilst knowing she was the cause for it. That her running away was why Jonathan was arrested and beaten, only to then be told Augusta paid for him to be collared. 

Augusta never meant for that to happen, and now that her fear was not choking her, it was easier to think. 

Augusta wanted a distraction; Jonathan was a perfect one; for all the wrong things. 

“I gathered that when you failed to tell anyone about what you saw.” Jonathan lowered to a whisper, and with great caution, took a step closer. “Thank you.” Came after on a short breath, Jonathan laid a kiss on Augusta’s cheek with it. “I don’t think you will ever appreciate how much it meant when you said nothing.” 

* * *


	23. Lies in the Walls: III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/2PeQP3wjJ0ogwbUr1X6tU1?si=TB4f0OYbTzy6g3xB8y-b5g

* * *

To spare Jonathan further ridicule by broadening the people who saw the collar braced around his neck, Augusta led him to her quarters in the palace. 

Requesting fresh clothes and food to be delivered, Augusta asked for the staff to disperse from the west wing and to keep any visitor - official or not - delayed should they call after Augusta’s whereabouts. 

Showing compassion or kindness to an impure was considered unsightly and could leave Augusta facing questioning or arrest or worse; Jonathan could be returned to the detainment camp. 

Accepting the silver trolley stacked with covered plates, a jug of ice water and a coffee pot, Augusta ignored the rattle of the dishes when closing the door and bidding the maid away with a smile. Steering the trolley over to the small circle table beside the window where Jonathan sat trying to unclasp the collar, Augusta watched his bloodied and scraped fingers. 

The foul language came like a seamless stream from Jonathan’s mouth while his agitation grew, and his success to rid himself of the collar remained nonexistent.

Pouring a glass of water, Augusta could see the withering in Jonathan’s lips. Small cracks appearing sore and like chipped pottery in the rouged shade of his mouth, Jonathan stopped his fighting with the leather and metal when Augusta offered the water.

“Let me look.” Augusta cupped under Jonathan’s hand when he pressed a palm shakily to the base of the glass. “Please?” She implored again; praying Jonathan would lose his pride and accept her aid.

Jonathan didn’t say yes, but neither did he refuse when he sipped the water, and the careful turn of his head let Augusta look at the fastening of the collar. 

It looked like a latch and bolted almost, except a hole drilled into the point where the bolt secured the latch there was a small padlock holding it together. The setup was as elaborate as it was dehumanising; the cruelties of those who placed it on Jonathan boundless.

“There is a coded padlock.” Noticing the four dials needing to be turned to release the padlock, Augusta confirmed it true when Jonathan snapped his head around, swearing loudly when Augusta rattled the padlock. “Cracking codes is not a skill set I possess.” She admitted. “Did they say anything that could allow insight?” They could be there hours going through every number combination to unlock it.

Considering all viable options, Augusta noticed how quiet Jonathan became after the question of insight. A noticeable tremor in the glass in his hand, Jonathan refused to meet Augusta’s inquisitiveness and turned to the window.

With the impression that the code held meaning to Jonathan, a small backwards step allowed him space. If it were a sensitive topic or roused unpleasant memories, Augusta would not push Jonathan to speak. Already suffering an ordeal, Jonathan appeared melancholic in the window's dim blue light, face half in shadow making the bruises beneath his eyes appear darker. 

Not knowing enough about Jonathan to offer comfort or even know what caused his solemn mood, Augusta busied her mind in distraction to sort the dishes of hearty stew with dumplings, bread and butter on the table for Jonathan to eat, a rumble of sound from him forced Augusta to grind to a halt.

It lasted one second before Augusta left her surprise and instead found her anger. 

“Why would I not know that?!” Came in an abrupt response. “Why are you still so determined to deem me like them?!” Her voice raised an octave, and she dismissed Jonathan’s owlish staring. “I don’t think like them! I don’t think less of you, and I never have.” Close to running out of steam, Augusta held on a little longer to say her piece. 

“I accepted you for who you were a long time ago. So why can’t you do the same for me?” Augusta asked in a whisper. “I don’t know if you’re stupid on purpose or simply are, but living with you these last few months have been the happiest I have ever been.” Determined not to shed a single tear and let Jonathan see how deeply his words cut. How cruel they lashed. “I was willing to live in the knowledge that my feelings were one-sided and unreciprocated. That your drunk rambling was nothing.” She did not forget what Jonathan said before all hell let loose in the police station whilst he was inebriated. That the thought Jonathan was speaking of past love and not Augusta crossed her mind many times since. “It seems I was right to dismiss it as nothing. That you’re a brainless ape who has no idea how unfair you were—?”

Water and stew and dumplings spilt hot and cold over Augusta’s dress. Seeping and staining the creamy fabric when Jonathan kicked up out of the chair.

It was not enough of a shock or distraction to ignore the impassioned way which Jonathan set his bruised and broken lips on Augusta’s. How his fingers were bruising her arms where he held them, drawing her into an embrace that was the angriest Augusta ever experienced. Like Jonathan was hellbent on his actions speaking in place of his words in that single moment. There was no rehearsed way in which Jonathan held Augusta or how he kissed her or snapped in a clamour of discomfort and determination: “I told you I loved my wife because I do.” And in a pained wince. “I don’t how more plainly you need me to spell it out for you to realise that I was speaking about you. Idiot.” 

* * *


	24. Lies in the Walls: IV

* * *

_Dear Prinzessin,_

_It’s been a while since we last spoke. Rather, since I wrote to you._

_Much has changed since I found the courage to reach out and speak with you._

_Your marriage to Ludwig Von Trapp was dissolved by my own interest and input._

_I sat across from you the very morning you came to ask for your separation. I witnessed your bruised skin in the literal flesh. Saw both fear and hope align in your eyes. Your wish for salvation from the wretched being you were forced to be the wife of. The sheer volume of your terror that it would be denied._

_By my admission that we have met, can you say that you remember the faces of the men who held your fate that day?_

_I doubt it._

_For if you knew it, you would have known me sooner when we met again in Berlin’s Police Station._

_You’re no longer so ignorant of your privilege now that you’re wed to a man far beneath your status, but you’re still agonisingly naive._

_After all, were you not, you would never have fallen in love with a man who you will forever have to hide your feelings for._

_You know the cost of someone of your standing defending an impure in public._

_Now I am curious how you will love a man you can never expect to enjoy the simple things with._

_Behind closed doors and at home does not even promise safety. To never know the joys of sharing a bed with this man through the night without the fear that it could be discovered by an unwanted visit in the middle of it._

_That home in which you live is no sanctuary. Not at all._

_These demons in the skins of men can enter your home as and when they wish._

_And they’re most interested in you as you know._

_They follow your every move. Your every step._

_Watching. Waiting._

_For what?_

_Who knows?_

_Maybe they wish to see if the pitiful young woman you are will befall the trap they think they have set you._

_If only they knew how little control they truly held over the selection of your new husband they wouldn’t think themselves so smart._

_I know you must have questions. I, of course, hold answers._

_You will have them, one day, when you recognise the face of the man who has gifted you this freedom to find happiness and hope in the way of a man who has needed someone like you for far too long._

_You have breathed air into the lungs of the silenced; they’re whispering your name as I write this._

_Your own silence over the events that passed have lit a new ray of hope in the hearts of the people who have been living in the darkest place for far too long._

_They’re looking at you from every shadowed corner; waiting on your next step._

_I am too._

_I took a leap of faith when I first wrote to you. I prayed that I made the right choice whilst anxiously waiting for you to decide what you would do with that first letter. I still hold the same faith that I made the right choice._

_Now I must patiently wait to witness your next hand. How you will navigate this world of lies and blood and darkness; This Reich der Stille._

_Whether it will consume you; or you will consume it._

_You’re still only a child. A seventeen year old girl. Yet, somehow, I find myself believing that you will find the strength of your self to be more than that._

_That you will be the one to bring change, even if it brings your death._

_You found a little strength the day you stood before me and showed your bruised body._

_For all our sakes, don’t lose it. Let it grow in leaps and bounds but wisely._

_You’re not as alone in this as you might believe. You have allies and many, many people who have waited for you._

_Look where you never knew to look and you will find them._

_Maybe one day soon, you will find me too._

_With faith and hope,_

_The Silenced._

  


* * *

Tossing the letter into the fire when the bedroom door was opened without being knocked, {Name}’s thumping heart stopped when she turned and found herself staring at the last person she expected. 

Confusion bloomed over the shock that she met the man who wrote her the letters the very day her divorce was granted when the man at her bedroom door leaned into the room a little further, focused on the bed. 

Jonathan was asleep among the sheets. Somehow managing to tangle himself within them and still maintain modesty; it was evident beyond the lacking clothes by the creases of the sheets that more than slumber happened in the bed. 

Standing in only a thin sheet when the letter pushed beneath the door drew attention, {Name} was overly aware that she was caught in a compromising position. 

The very same position the letter spoke about. Warned {Name} that could happen. 

Though {Name} was married, she had been wed by a piece of paper while with child. There was expectations that {Name} would never lay beneath Jonathan from the offset. A loosely worded warning not to by the men who delivered {Name} on Jonathan’s doorstep some five months ago. 

To be caught in the way that {Name} was in that very moment was dangerous. 

Even more so in consideration of who it was standing in the bedroom doorway. 

“Otto.” She found her voice, warily. “Why are you here?” 

Otto didn’t take his eyes away from where Jonathan was sleeping for far too long. The narrowness of his stare sparking dread in {Name}’s chest. 

Was Otto still angry over their last exchange? 

Did he still want vengeance for what was done to Ludwig? 

“Come downstairs.” Otto didn’t even look at {Name} when he broke his silence. “We need to talk.” He stated with a vicious curl to his lip. 

There was no illusion that Otto would not take no for an answer, or that it was even an option to refuse. 

{Name} could not avoid speaking with Otto forever, and definitely not when he knew that {Name}’s relationship with Jonathan was more than simply enduring his company. 

“Ok.” {Name} whispered back, her palms sweaty as her hands trembled, fumbling for a better grip on the bedsheet around her chest. “Give me a moment.” She requested, needing to dress more appropriately for keeping company. 

Otto glanced back at {Name} finally. His dark eyes scoping her from head to foot, before the viciousness of his smile became a dangerous, tooth baring, smirk. 

“Your sullied sheets will be just fine.” He said with a tilt of his head, motioning for her to leave the room. 

Unsure but seeing no way to refuse, {Name} shuffled defeatedly over to Otto, avoiding making eye contact while her head was in a spin over what was to come. 


	25. Lies in the Walls: V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/620NbOeT1eSXO1iKzIs6zj?si=MHOBPN7pTiuamIqGzyguxg

* * *

Of all the things Augusta imagined to come from the meeting with Otto, it was never this. 

Sitting with only a bedsheet for modesty, Augusta stared without seeing into the eyes of the man dressed in the horrid shades of black that marked him as an officer of the Gestapo while he spoke. 

Not a single word absorbed since the man detailed his purpose for being there as: “Your marriage to this impure was a grave clerical error on our part. On behalf of those who made such a blunder, please accept our deepest apologies and sympathies for putting you through this. I am sure you will be most pleased to hear that you were intended to be wed to Mr Von Trapp’s twin brother, Otto. A matter we have now arranged and corrected.” 

If not for the squeeze on Augusta’s shoulder by her father who stood behind the sofa as the man spoke, she would have missed that she was asked a question. 

“It has been an ordeal for my youngest daughter,” Richard spoke on Augusta’s behalf. “Please make no mistake that she is most pleased with the correction of her spouse. She has never been forthcoming with her emotions, and has been a timid girl from birth.” He spoke tenderness and moved his hand to pat Augusta’s head lightly. 

The officer, who at first was suspicious of Augusta’s silence, became warmer and relaxed when Richard explained away her lacking reaction to the news. 

“I had heard she was a quiet woman.” The man nodded, tenting his fingers to bring them to his lips. “It would seem that those rumours were true.” He chuckled like it was the funniest thing he heard that week. 

It was the devastation that kept Augusta’s tongue silent and her stare blanked. 

This was by no means happy news for Augusta. Not anymore.

Should this have been the outcome from the second, her divorce was granted then maybe, only maybe, Augusta would have rejoiced. 

Now it was the worst imaginable thing to happen. Augusta was happy in her quaint little life with Jonathan; she was happily married and in love with the man who was chosen to be her husband. 

Everything was good. Now it was hell all over again. 

Believing that Otto was about to blackmail her somehow over his witnessing the more intimate nature of her relationship with Jonathan, this was worse. 

Tearing focus off the man who came with the news, Augusta found where Otto sat in an armchair. A cigarette pinched my finger and thumb, his smile was less darkness than when he arrived at her bedroom door. Now Otto sat with a smile like he was the happiest man alive; like he did Augusta the greatest favour and finally rescued her from a marriage she never wanted. 

Otto might have meant well in his thinking, but Augusta no longer needed rescue. Not from Jonathan. 

Augusta needed Otto’s help from the start of her marriage to Ludwig. In more than his bodily favours or company. 

Ludwig was dead now, Otto’s response was too late and so poorly mislead that Augusta wanted to scream every nasty little word she knew at him. 

Augusta couldn’t. Not unless she wanted to spend a spell in a concentration camp; or end up dead by firing squad.

Not even Augusta’s father could spare her this time. It was evident that even the stretches of his power could not extend into the marriage arrangements. 

Again Augusta was powerless over her own life. Forcibly silenced by the men in power to accept the dictation over her life. 

God how Augusta wished to cry and weep and expel the fire buried in her chest. 

All her hopes and dreams snatched away from her again by these men who believed they knew better than anyone else how she should live her life and who she should love. 

Augusta was not born impure, but she knew well the shackles of oppression. 

The chains were different but no less rusted and restraining than those worn by the impure. 

How wrong the letter was to think they could bring Augusta to Jonathan and let her stay. 

There were lies in the walls of every building, and Augusta’s were about to be the greatest when she lived in the ones she was about to share with Otto. 

* * *


	26. Don’t Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/4tJi4dodnpJ0MSKj2w6OkP?si=BHZIdU6uTK2E865Lcgo2dQ

* * *

Dawn came even though Augusta willed the night to stay.

Agonising over how to tell Jonathan that their marriage was dissolved the splendour of diversion from telling Jonathan what occurred while he slept unfolded in a surreal moment.

Asking Otto to remain behind for one more day to spend time with her father, Augusta couldn’t bear the thought of departing without giving Jonathan a proper goodbye or explanation; all her hard thought words vanished like smoke when Jonathan came to join her at the small table set for breakfast. 

At first, Jonathan stood in the corner of the room with narrowed, suspicious eyes on Augusta while she stumbled and jittered about to find the courage to speak. There was a small resignation in Jonathan’s eyes. Like he knew already what was about to come. That Jonathan - like Augusta - believed if it was never said, then it could never come to be.

It became frustrating when Augusta could hear her heart in her chest. The shallowness of her breaths as every word became infected by Augusta’s desire for it all to be a dream. To wake and be told that it never happened.

Wilful and wishful as Augusta’s thinking was, it could not change that once again she was Mrs Von Trapp. 

Despising how weak Augusta was, how dangerous it would be to say that she was happy with Jonathan, she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. 

Jonathan raised his head. “I am not a sentimental man. Not truly.” He picked up the tea that was surely cold by how long it sat untouched. “Prolonging this will make it no easier. So I will say what needs to be said and leave.” He didn’t even look at Augusta when he spoke or sipped the cold tea. 

All Augusta’s hours of tormented thinking over what to say ended in Jonathan’s confirmation over Augusta’s suspicions that he already knew.

Oh, how Augusta wanted to wake up. She even pinched her thigh under the table, but the pain was not there; Augusta was numb to the touch. 

Jonathan set down the tea. Arranging the front of his suit jacket and stood.

“Thank you.” Jonathan bowed deeply. “Your highness.” There wasn’t even a smile on his face when he made his goodbyes. 

It was cold and closed off, and Augusta understood it was the best she was ever going to get when Jonathan straightened his posture and walked away without a single look towards her.

The door's closing was the opening of the deepest wound in Augusta’s chest since she lost the baby. A wide-open cut that would not be healed by the calm, serene silence of the man who walked out and away from Augusta. 

Head hanging when the pain became physical and Augusta wanted the numbness to return; she felt nauseated by the breath-stealing sobs that shook her body. 

Augusta knew that she needed to let Jonathan go. Even if she never wanted to. 

* * *


	27. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/5t4olsMVZgqnIzpwH8xoAi?si=dSGwhkD0SWqK47sToicTMg

* * *

_**1964** _

_**Two Years Later** _

* * *

Akin to when Ludwig was alive, Otto’s work - though Augusta held no idea what either did - required him to travel. 

It meant being alone in a too-large house for days - sometimes weeks - at a time. No longer watched every time Augusta left the house, she took advantage as soon as she was able.

Travelling to Trier where the days were warmer and the sands white as the water was clear, Augusta, for the first time since leaving her childhood home was truly on her own. 

Married only by a piece of paper to Otto and told soon after her miscarriage that she could likely bare no more children, there was no purpose to fulfil by staying in the house supposed to be shared with Otto.

Augusta left everything behind. Taking nothing more than a day worth of clothes - the very ones she was wearing that morning - her ID and emptying her bank accounts, Augusta knew that people were searching for her.

The papers called Augusta the vanishing Princess. Their headlines exploding with her name and a so outdated picture that she almost didn’t recognise herself took up the front page.

Augusta made a few changes when she arrived in Trier and paid for the silence of the elderly man she bought the coastal cottage from.

Shedding the knee length tresses and gradually lightening the rich brown to a honeyed shade, Augusta was never seen in the town without sunglasses to disguise her face further.

Augusta’s only friend was an old man who, in his ascending years, was going blind.

The rest Augusta met under the basking sunshine were finally people who would speak of the world before born.

Every detail was delicate and delicious but guarded and required months and months of careful meetings and gaining trust for them to speak.

Augusta never imagined so much could be said in so little words. 

Augusta never knew that the place she dreamed of visiting back when she was married to Ludwig was actually once a country called Spain or that Berlin - before a war that started it all - was actually Germany.

Germany expanded its borders so far and wide. Consuming all others in its way until all that remained was The Third Reich. Germany’s Empire was the greatest the world had ever seen, and it was the most brutal. 

Sadly, the person who spoke those words clammed up seconds after. Fear ignited in their wine glazed eyes after realising they said too much and that Augusta’s gratuitous plying of wine was for an ulterior motive. 

It was enough. Enough to point Augusta in the direction she had been seeking since the first letter crossed her desk.

Not even the matter that the person who whispered the name like speaking of a ghost of the country she was in would no longer speak with her was going to deter her. 

It was a brush on the surface of the ashes of ruin the German Empire created, and she had so much deeper to dig. 

If not for the sake of the very people who signed that letter, but for herself, for the son she had given birth too almost a year ago.

The small boy who acted as Augusta’s catalyst and motive the very morning realised that she was not the damaged goods a doctor declared her to be. 

It was for his sake and her own that leaving Berlin behind meant far more than running from Otto, her past.

If anyone learned that Otto was not the boy's father, Augusta knew what the outcome would be.

If anyone knew that Augusta, a pureblood hereditary Princess of the German Empire birthed a son by an impure, the cost would be more than shame.

It was why Augusta bought the house on the coast away from prying eyes.

Augusta knew that she could not let the small boy who ran among flowers so unsteady but determined on tiny feet be discovered.

Not even by his own father.

It was why Augusta checked again the doctored identity papers that she spent months toiling over to make indistinguishable from her old ID.

Praying that she would be long passed the border with her son before it was discovered that the name printed on the papers was a woman who died the year before, Augusta let out a long and slow breath before making the final checks to her luggage.

There wasn’t much. A few clothes. Some toiletries. The Reichsmarks taken from her bank used sparingly and stored behind a fake bottom in the suitcase, Augusta gazed upon the home she spent countless days and nights plotting and planning her next moves.

The city over from Trier was Düsseldorf. A place Augusta was told was once a country known as France.

It was from there that Augusta would find a man with a boat who, for the right price, would take Augusta across the waters to a place that did not exist on any map. A place where supposedly there were answers to burning questions no one answered.

A place where no one would think to look for Augusta or her son.

“Lydon,” Augusta called for the small boy, his smile bright and so unburdened that it left her chest aching that his father would never know it. “We are leaving.” She held out a hand, waiting for the small boy to pick his way through the flowers.

After months of not knowing what to name her child before he was born, Augusta settled on Lydon after an evening spent talking with the partially blind man up the road and he became talkative after a few too many schnapps.

He revealed that he was in fact, Irish born. From a place called Cork and he chuckled that it was known as the Rebel County. That he was the proud father of thirteen.

His youngest, Jonathan, was the only surviving son, but he held no idea where he was anymore.

While talking, and at the mention of the name Jonathan, that - the then-unnamed Lydon - kicked.

Almost like he knew that the name spoken was the same as his father.

The old man had smiled tearfully amidst his nostalgia and murmured that Lydon was a name the German Empire would accept, but that it was never theirs.

Lydon held its origins in Ireland, but in Germany meant one from the Linden tree hill.

A linden tree represented love, peace and justice among many others; and for Augusta Lydon was all of those things and more.

He was her motivation to seek justice and peace, and more so that one day, Lydon would know his father without shame or fear of death. 

It was for that reason Augusta chose the name for her son. A constant reminder that change could only come if one opened their eyes and then cut the stitches from their lips. 

Lydon was Augusta’s motivation to give the voices back to the silenced.

Even if only small, to start something to end the reign of the Reich der Stille they were all living in.

* * *


	28. Hold On

* * *

The SS officer was looking too long and a little too hard than was comfortable for Augusta. At first, when their eyes met across the aisle, it seemed harmless and innocent. A by-product of browsing the shelves. Then, it became apparent that Augusta caught the man’s eye a little more attentively than wanted.

Crossing from Trier into Düsseldorf some days ago, Augusta was left breathless by the city's artistic architecture. How different it was by comparison to any place Augusta visited before.

Unlike in Berlin where being out late at night was seen as shameful, here it was expected.

The city never slept.

Filled with laughter and dancing, theatre and shows of a more carnal urge, Düsseldorf was like the German Empire's play capital.

There was not a sin that could not be found or paid for, and it was encouraged.

Far from a place Augusta wanted Lydon to be raised in, or to see the quagmire Düsseldorf was, Augusta held no other options but to bring Lydon with her on the short trip to the shops. 

Knowing Lydon’s birth remained unregistered due to the complications of using a dead woman’s name to get by, Augusta tried not to draw the SS officers attention further by acting as nervous as she felt. 

There was only so long a woman could browse the bread aisle before it came across odd. 

With Lydon’s tiny hand clinging to Augusta’s little finger, happily humming a song he either heard or made up, Augusta placed a loaf of the granary in the basket and started to shift along the aisle; adjusting the sunglasses. 

Stopping mid-step when her nails tapped the glass, Augusta finally realised why the man spent so long staring. 

Wearing sunglasses indoors was not precisely normal practice, and so with reservations over whether slipping them off might have the man who took to leaning on a shelf of condiments, would allow him to recognise Augusta, the glasses were slipped away. 

No longer seeing the world through tinted glass, Augusta’s whole stomach swooped low when the SS officer came off the rest of the shelf and with eyes like a saucer, gawked openly. 

Lydon must have noticed how stiff Augusta became because he tugged on her skirt with a whispered: “Mama?” 

Everything started moving in slow motion.

The bell above the door ringing. The chatter of shopping women. The squeal of a newborn babe. Clicking of heels.

Loudest among them all was the voice of the officer who - with no effort to be reserved - shouted: “Halt! Prinzessin!” With a hand reaching to draw out his Luger while he hurried to catch Augusta in her attempt to flee from the shop. 

A glance at the men filing into the shop was enough to tell Augusta that her spell of freedom was over. 

Discarding the fake ID on the floor and kicking it under a shelf while picking Lydon up when the suddenly raised voices made him jump and cry, Augusta cradled him close, kissing his little head to settle his tears. 

“Well, well, well...” A man whispered into Augusta’s ear from behind, making her body tense again. “You have been most elusive, your highness.” He chuckled, and Augusta could tell that he bared his teeth in a long smile. 

Holding tighter to Lydon, all the hours Augusta spent thinking how to disguise who his father was should this moment come started running circles around the fear and dread that filled her mind over what was to come. 

Being caught so soon after coming to Düsseldorf after successfully hiding in Trier for two years, Augusta didn’t argue or fight when the officers offered to escort her back to Berlin where she would undergo questioning.

Deflated and defeated, Augusta stayed silent even when the officer cupped her elbow to ensure she did not run when they left the shop. Augusta couldn’t bring her eyes off the pavement the entire time; she couldn’t let them see her face, how truly terror gripped her. 

If Augusta could not successfully sell the story, she invented so many months ago and convinced not only the authorities but also Otto that Lydon was his son. Augusta was going to lose her second child. 

A thought that took the wind out of her lungs and left her afraid even to let Lydon go. 

There was no telling how long Augusta had left to hold her son, and she would not waste a second of it. 

Ducking into the back of a car waiting on the curb, Augusta didn’t look at the man in the seat at her side. All Augusta could see was a watery blurred image of Lydon’s head as he stayed clinging to her front, face buried in her shoulder. 

There were two men up front, and one swivelled in his seat, slinging an arm over the backrest, flicking up the brim of his hat. 

“Hold on to your knickers, your highness.” He grinned. 

Baffled by the comment, Augusta didn’t have time to think about why the man in the seat beside her reached over and, with a firm arm, pushed her back in the chair to hold her in place. 

There was no time to think anything when the sudden tug of the car peeling away at speed unseen by Augusta in any other vehicle, cut across the mid-morning traffic with little regard. 

Held in place and with no idea what was happening, Augusta noticed that the men inside the car were not dressed as expected. 

There were no blacks or greys of the Gestapo or Schutzstaffel, but white and crumpled shirts with worn braces. 

These men - whoever they were - were not in cohorts with the Empire.

* * *


	29. The Silenced

* * *

Transferred from one vehicle to another some miles after breaking through the checkpoint that took them from Düsseldorf into unchartered land, Augusta’s shock left her some hours before the sun went down. 

Cradling Lydon close, wrapped in the blanket offered by the men after climbing into the second car, Augusta listened attentively when the man in the driver's seat spoke for a few miles of who they were and why they - in essence - kidnapped Augusta. 

The Silenced. 

These men were a part of the group the man in the letter spoke of two years ago. Naming them as a collective forced to be silent under the Third Reich regime, they were breaking their quiet existences since Augusta saw to it that Ludwig Von Trapp was hanged. 

Their whispers grew louder when Augusta went into hiding after discovering she was with child. 

Now, there were pockets all across the Empire who were shouting out. Demanding that Augusta was found and brought more wholesomely into their fold; or killed. 

Left unsure if Augusta’s disappearing act was of her own volition or she was dead, and it was all a story being sold to hide her murder at the government's hands, finding Augusta was not only the priority of the Gestapo but of the silenced too. 

Discovered by both simultaneously, the Silenced were apparently one step ahead of the Government to whisk Augusta away from their grasp. 

Which led Augusta to where she was right now. 

Standing inside a dilapidated warehouse that dripped with stagnant water and groaned at every brush of the winds. 

“This way.” Ordered to follow the man who led Augusta inside the building that looked ready to fall in on itself, Augusta held Lydon more sure in her arms. Checking that he was asleep still while he rested on her shoulder, before following behind the man who moved in the darkness as he could see through it. 

Passing stacked up crates covered in torn and oily sheets. Slipping through rusted chains that swung from the overhead beams, Augusta thought about. First, it was the wind that she could hear whispering until the man who acted as a guide, paused by a wooden wall. 

There was nothing significant about it. It looked like the rest. Damp and gutted by rot. 

That was all it was until the man knocked on it. Then kicked the bottom. 

Something whirred mechanically, then like a beast gasping the wall slid open a crack. A single eye appearing from the darkness, Augusta flinched back from its disembodiment. 

“You have arrived!” The eye hissed excitement, the subtle blue of their iris becoming smaller when the pupil enlarged as it focused on Augusta. “She’s here!” It cried out, twisting away from the slit in the wall, pulling it open to reveal a room beyond. 

Accustomed to public engagements, being under the eyes of many all at once, Augusta was not ready on this occasion to be the complete focus of a room. 

There was joy, but there were fear and pain too in the eyes of the men and women who froze in their seats and where they stood when the wall was thrown back, and Augusta was revealed to them all. 

Soft gasping breaths. Air swallowed. Panic ignited in the lungs of many all at once that it stole the air from the room. 

The man who led Augusta to this place gazed curiously upon her. There was not about to be a helping hand, Augusta was on her own. The next thing Augusta did would be paramount for how the people inside would receive her. 

The House of Battenberg bowed to no man. It was staunchly in their pride, not to. 

Augusta never bowed to a single man or woman in her nineteen years of life, ever. 

Until Augusta faced a room full of men and women who stood mightier and taller than she ever could. 

Careful to cradle Lydon, Augusta crossed a foot behind her ankle, and with a fluidity that broke her rigidity, she curtsied to the room. Making sure her head was low. 

To these people, Augusta was a symbol of hope but also of the system that subjugated them. 

Augusta hoped they understood the motive behind her actions. She did not once believe herself worth more than them. Augusta was not a product of the regime they were fighting, but a woman who was tired of the weight of oppression like they were. 

Augusta stayed in the curtsy until one man stepped from the back of the room. 

“Remember this moment.” He spoke to the room. “The day a pure-blood lowered her head to the impure.” He came across condescending but surprised at the same time. 

Augusta was in no place to argue the man’s tone, but she lifted her eyes from the floor to look the man in the eyes. 

For some reason, it created a smile on his mouth that Augusta never found his stare. It was well hidden beneath the peak of his cap and a clever downturn of his face. 

A single moment, Augusta thought he was possibly the same man she met in the police station. The one who wrote the letters that led Augusta on the path she was. 

A thought that died when Augusta glanced at his collar and saw the two ‘SS’s that grimaced under the candlelight. 

“We are spread far and wide, Prinzessin.” The man tapped the collar when he noticed she was looking. “We hide among our enemies and deeper.” He stated, lifting his head in time with Augusta standing straight. 

The way he stood was with a strong effort not to let Augusta get a clear look at his face, and it unsettled her profoundly. 

Augusta wanted to know if it was the man who wrote the letters, but her eyes were diverted when a commotion broke in the back of the room, and the wall was closed to maintain the secret of the hiding space. 

No longer held in silent stares, Augusta became a background entity when someone called out from the back of the room; they called for Augusta. 

Unsure of her standing among these people, Augusta turned a wary eye on the man who led her to the warehouse, and she found him encouraging her to follow the person who hailed her down among the crowded place. 

Caution creeping over Augusta’s skin like a thousand ants, there was also a tiny bit of unknown excitement. It started in how the people Augusta passed looked towards her, the small giddy like smiles of the women when they looked upon Lydon. 

Directed down a narrow corridor with a rickety set of planks to cross to space more secluded at the back, Augusta could hear sharp pants and grunts intermingled by words untranslatable in an accent Augusta heard only once in her life. 

Heart-making loops when the speaker with the accent Augusta longed to hear on the voice of others since the last she heard it, a single tear slipped down her cheek as she held Lydon closer when he stirred in his sleep. 

Lighting dimmed and only made possible by old oil lanterns hanging on the walls, Augusta stepped into the room where a man was twisting and coiling among old sheets draped over crates to create a bed. 

Face buried in the curve of his arm, the hand clenching into a fist, Augusta didn’t need to look too deeply to know the man was in a great deal of pain. 

Shirtless, there was very little of his skin that was not mottled in blacks and purples; the bruising vicious and malicious over his back, stomach and chest; part of his skin was painted red; torn open and slowly pulsing blood over his trousers onto the floor. 

A single woman was trying to clean up the man’s side. Tending to him with small whispers in a way that seemed more than polite bedside manner, but intimate. 

Were it not for Lydon being in Augusta’s arms she would have paid it far more attention than she gave it in that second. 

Restraining a gasp, Augusta started to back up a step. Lydon could not see this man, not like this. 

Ready to depart that space she was directed, Augusta stopped when a kindly woman spoke from over her shoulder. 

“Let me take the babe, your highness.” The woman offered, wrinkled hands extending over and around to accept Lydon.

Turning to inspect the woman offering to care for Lydon, Augusta found an older woman with a soft, heart-shaped face. Smile warm and sweet; it was her eyes that struck Augusta as painfully familiar. She had seen them so many times before that it started an ache in Augusta’s chest.

“I would like to meet my grandson, finally.” The woman was full of hope and admiration and awe as she looked upon Lydon’s sleepy face. “If you will allow me the honour? Your highness.” She implored tearfully, wearing her heart on her sleeve as she asked to hold her grandson.

It struck Augusta dumb for only a moment what the woman was telling her.

Standing before Augusta was the woman who carried Jonathan some thirty or more years ago, pleading to hold her grandson. 

This woman was Jonathan’s mother. 

Unable to speak, Augusta released the wary hold on Lydon, passing him carefully into the strong but shaking arms of the woman, her small gasp of breath heart-achingly made when she gazed upon him. The glitter of tears in her eyes became a small river when she gently moved the blanket Lydon was wrapped in to see his sleeping face better. 

“Oh!” She gasped. “Oh my, the heart is blessed.” She sniffed. “I never thought the day would come where I would see my children, bare children.” She cried, swallowing fiercely, trying to remain strong. 

It made it difficult not to cry along with her. To share the small joyous moment tearfully when the woman kissed Lydon’s crown, whispering sweetly in her language that Jonathan once told Augusta was called, Irish Gaelic. 

“You have made an old woman’s dreams see the light of day.” The woman, who was still without a name, gripped Augusta’s arm. “Thank you.” She breathed through a tearful smile. “Thank you for giving my son this most precious gift. To me, too.” She swallowed, needing air in her not to dissolve into her tearfulness. 

Augusta’s smile was warm but wobbly when she returned it. Left so hollow by the woman’s thankfulness over something that should never have been something she believed she would never experience. 

To be a grandparent was something so precious to this woman, and it affirmed for Augusta how wrong the system that was in a place that kept her from knowing the joys of a grandchild, was. 

Fearing that she would become as tearful as the woman, Augusta trusted that Lydon was safe in her arms, before pointing over a shoulder to the room behind. 

The elderly woman was overjoyed with holding Lydon, and her smile was strong when she whispered: “Go.” With a small nod. “He might not say it, but he has missed you.” She tapped the side of her nose with a small winking. 

Trying not to smile about it, Augusta watched the woman return up the rickety corridor. Lydon safely away from witnessing his father for the first time in his current condition. 

Drawing a steadying breath, wiping away the tears, Augusta shook herself out before turning and stepping back into the makeshift hospital room. 

Jonathan was still laying on his side, but his head was rolled over, and his arm draped over his eyes; the hand still a tight fist. 

The woman who was trying to clean up his side was preparing a needle for injection. The white of her uniform stained red by Jonathan’s blood, she continued to talk to him like she was more than a helping hand, but like she was very, very familiar with him. 

Two years came and went since Augusta was forcibly remarried to Otto. There was no expectation for Jonathan not to fill the void Augusta left him with, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less that he seemed to have. 

Oddly feeling like Augusta was interrupting an intimacy between Jonathan and the woman. Like Augusta was witnessing a worried woman tending her lover, it left her feeling strange. 

That being there was wrong. That Augusta should leave and let them be. 

Augusta almost did. Until the worry that another replaced her died when Jonathan half-shouted: “I told you to stop calling me that!” When the woman used his first name. 

“Oh!” The woman cawed back. “Sorry. I forgot that you reserved it for your slag of a wife who hasn’t cared a damn second about you!” She snarled, her lips twisted angrily. 

Starting the experience like an outsider, invading the moment between two lovers, Augusta found the moment crushed when she listened longer. 

Jonathan’s fist relaxed for a second when the woman called Augusta a slag. Before it became a tighter clenching when he spewed back: “Oh get over yourself, you bitter wench!” Sarcastically. 

Shuffling on her feet when the woman took open offence, Augusta pursed her lips to refrain the smile. 

Even in high pain, Jonathan didn’t lose his sarcasm. 

The woman was not done with her speech, and she rallied in her anger to shout at Jonathan: “When will you realise you mean nothing to her! Look what she has done to you!” Whilst waving about the needle a little too carelessly. “We barely got you out alive! I risked my life to save yours, and what has she done for you?!” The woman was becoming tearful, desperate almost. 

It was heart-wrenching to witness how vehemently the woman wanted her affections for Jonathan to be more than one-sided ventures. 

Jonathan stayed quiet. Refusing to utter a word back to the woman’s almost pleas for him to show her something more than building contempt. Even a thank you for her aiding in Jonathan’s apparent rescue should have been given. 

Jonathan offered nothing. 

It was cold and cruel that even Augusta found herself wanting to scold him over it. 

The woman was distraught. Eyes rippling with her upset, mouth firmly closed to keep back her sobbing, the tremble in her whole body was terrible. 

So it was alarming when the woman finally noticed that Augusta was standing in the doorway; watching. 

For a split second, and unbridled rage started in the woman’s green eyes when she looked upon Augusta that she genuinely thought the woman would attack her. 

When nothing but a crying expulsion of air and a vicious stab into Jonathan’s side with the prepared needle that made him convulse and jump up from the makeshift hospital bed, came, Augusta relaxed. 

Sprung up from the bed to rip out the needle stabbed in his thigh, Jonathan was in a torrent of crude and unheard expressions when the woman stormed out of the room. 

The woman paused beside Augusta only to spit in her face and snarl: “Whore!” Before shoving her shoulder into Augusta. 

Startled from being spit on, and desperately wiping the thick saliva away as she shuddered when it dripped down her cheek, Augusta only looked up when something whipped past her. 

Eyes open, it took only a single look to figure out that Jonathan had thrown something after the woman left most angrily achievable. 

Half off the bed, panting and huffing, Jonathan didn’t seem to notice Augusta at all. The agitation, agony of his body, taking away his ability to recognise Augusta in that second before he fell back in the bed with a loud groaning. 

The colour of Jonathan’s skin suggested that he had been beaten severely. Among the purple and blacks, there were greens and yellows; old bruises buried under newer ones. 

Augusta knew without needing to be told how they came to be. That Jonathan was arrested shortly after Augusta went missing was said to her during the drive that led her to be in the safe house of The Silenced. 

Otto showed that he held the same - if not worse - viciousness as Ludwig by the dire state Jonathan was left in. 

Guilt struck Augusta for knowing Jonathan was treated so poorly because of her. Were it not for Lydon, then Augusta was sure it would have consumed her. 

Waiting until Jonathan was breathing a little easier, calmer, Augusta approached the side of the bed and sat on the small space left open. 

Again there was a collar around Jonathan’s neck, and it made Augusta’s stomach knot when she brushed the dial that kept it locked; curious to know if the code was the very same as before. 

That morning when Jonathan arrived and the palace and whispered that the date was one he never expected Augusta to remember, she became angry with him. 

Slowly turning the first dial to a seven, Augusta’s fingers shook, wondering if Jonathan remained calm and quiet because he thought she was someone else. 

The second dial turned to a nine, and Augusta paused when Jonathan’s fist flexed again, relaxing. 

Possibly from the needle, he was stabbed with only moments ago was the cause for Jonathan’s sudden calming? 

Needing to shake out her nerves, she had the right combination to release Jonathan from the collar; she turned the last two dials to a six and a two. 

07.09.1962 

The lock on the collar popped open and the thick leather loosened from Jonathan’s neck. 

Augusta froze with a small gasp of surprise when Jonathan lifted his arm and unveiled his surprised stare. 

Stuck in place in a short stupor staring down at Jonathan, a smile finally broke across her lips when she confessed: “How could I forget our wedding date?” 

* * *


	30. This Time I Will Say It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This song is ❤️
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/track/0LWH2qz7P4VXyv2c4eOFMf?si=LQJ2QV1KTCmxBM0YOGETkQ

* * *

Time disappeared the moment Jonathan looked up at Augusta. The wincing crease in his eyes vacating to be overshadowed by surprise, there was a dulled light in the edges that became brighter when he reached his hand out and curled his shaking fingers around the nape of her neck. They tangled and twined in Augusta’s hair as he drew her closer. 

Losing air when the collar broke open, Augusta didn’t care that she still couldn’t breathe when her mouth sealed in a tender embrace with Jonathan’s. 

There was nothing left unspoken in the kiss. 

There was pain and anguish as there were love and rejoicing—a reconciliation made in a breathless silence of a kiss. 

Jonathan lost the tenseness from his bruised skin. Melting almost under Augusta’s touch when she exuded great care not to lay on him but to be close as she could. 

Draped and stretched over the makeshift bed, running fingers through Jonathan’s hair, Augusta’s eyes fluttered when the tears filled them. 

Lungs burning for air, Augusta stayed in Jonathan’s open-hearted embracing a second more. 

An attempt made to break free, Jonathan pulled Augusta closer, the tangle of his fingers refusing to allow her to leave his arms even when he forced himself to sit up. 

The quiver in Jonathan’s body, showing that sitting or moving was a bone-deep agonising, it was chased back and away by Jonathan’s desire to keep Augusta close. 

Wishing not to be further cause for Jonathan’s pain, Augusta tried to ease away, taking careful hands on his wrists to break away, Jonathan refused. 

Sure that Jonathan was not a man to be so open in his affections, suspecting it was the effects of the injection, Augusta gasped when they started to tumble. 

Hitting the cold concrete, the impact didn’t seem so sharp or painful when Augusta found her fall broken by the cradle of Jonathan’s arms. 

Wrapped tight and pressed to the mottled skin of Jonathan’s chest, Augusta’s own fingers were careful when they closed around him. 

“Fuck.” Jonathan groaned against Augusta’s ear. “That hurt.” He confessed in a gritted grumble, his back arced while he rested on his forearms. 

Momentarily stunned by the falling, Augusta broke into a short laugh when Jonathan continued to complain and accuse her of being the reason they were on the floor. 

Augusta didn’t even mind that she was blamed. Not when it meant hearing Jonathan’s commonplace cantankerous muttering. How his voice was softened by the lilt of his accent.

All of it was forgiven. 

When Augusta continued to laugh, Jonathan raised his head, pressing a finger over her grinning mouth with an “Sssh!” And a scolding look that became a brilliant smile when Augusta refused to be silent. 

Sure that no man would ever leave her feeling so light and free of heart like Jonathan did, Augusta finally stopped laughing only to gather the breath needed to finally tell Jonathan what she had wanted to for far too long. 

In metaphors and tangent speech Augusta told Jonathan that she loved him. Never thought did the words slip from her lips to say it to his face. 

Not until then. 

Taking Jonathan’s face gently in both palms, Augusta stroked her thumbs across his dried and cracked lips. Holding his focus wholeheartedly, Augusta smiled before sighing: “I love you, Jonathan Kilverney.” 

Like Jonathan’s body lost all its vigour, he became stiff all over, eyebrows lost in his hairline as his eyes opened like an owl. 

It lasted for only a second before Jonathan softened under her touch, and in a scowling buried his face again in her shoulder in a grumbling. 

“That wasn’t fair!” Jonathan exclaimed. “You can’t come up here after two bloody years and say that!” He shifted, burying himself deeper when Augusta started to laugh again. “Are you tryin’ t’ kill a man?!” He renewed the crankiness of his voice, groaning once again when Augusta trickled the words against the shell of his ear. 

Augusta liked how shy and bashful Jonathan became, how he tried to cover her mouth with a hand when she repeated it. 

Jonathan turned his head, laying it down beside Augusta’s the softness in his stare matching his voice when he murmured back: “Tá mé i ngrá leat freisin.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am in love with you too


	31. Wait a little longer, please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * https://open.spotify.com/track/5ivNQNApxeZA9Vp37KwjXU?si=bxw2OYHtSzmVLqR4D4eFSA
> 
> This song is 😭❤️  
> And where the little * appears is where I would personally start to play it for the ‘mood’

* * *

It took some time and a lot of coaxing to make Jonathan quit complaining and allow a nurse to tend to the open cut on his side.

Assuring that she would go nowhere, Augusta let Jonathan hold her hand while the nurse sutured his side. More than twice Jonathan’s grip became too much, and Augusta’s fingers were crushed.

Finally, the nurse snipped the loose ends and, with a damp cloth, wiped away the dried and cracked blood from Jonathan’s stomach and hip. "There." She smiled. "All done." She patted Jonathan’s leg almost in the act of comfort.

Fingers going numb by the pinch of Jonathan’s, a sharp inhale and shake of the hand came once he let Augusta’s hand go.

Wincing through a smile, the nurse turned an all too knowing look on Augusta while she cleaned up. 

Learning once to stitch up her own skin after Ludwig threw a vase that cut Augusta’s forearm deep, the discomfort Jonathan went through was deeply understood. Though Augusta was alone while she self-taught creating stitches, she was glad that she could be at Jonathan’s side while he suffered the discomfort of his. 

In the midst of struggling to pull a shirt over his head, Jonathan continued to grumble and mumble, his being partly blind allowing the nurse - who put a finger to her lips before approaching - stabbed Jonathan’s forearm so quick it was over in a blink. 

Jonathan twitched, at the exact moment, the nurse rubbed an alcohol swab over the injection and cooed: “A mild sedative to help you rest.” 

There was a second of pause before Jonathan snapped: “Can you give a man a heads up before you stab them?” Continuing his struggle to be dressed, his head popped out of the fabric, hair askew to mutter: “Been stabbed enough times in my life without the courtesy of anyone asking first.” 

It was in poor taste, but Augusta couldn’t help the laugh that came out. It was swallowed back when Jonathan shot a look like a warning towards her. 

The nurse, on the other hand, paid Jonathan’s quip little mind and instead ignored him to carry on offering her advice. 

“No over strenuous activities-,” The nurse looked between Jonathan and Augusta with yet another knowing, smug, grin. “, Keep it dry and should it become swollen or itch then come find me at once.” She closed the clips of her leather satchel and gave a polite smile before walking out with no more to say. 

*Sitting on a turned over crate, Augusta watched the shirt ripple over Jonathan’s bruised skin, hiding it away from sight. 

There was still the sore red imprint and ridges from the collar on his neck, and more than a few scratches and scrapes over his knuckles that appeared darker in the low oil lamplight. 

Appearing more presentable and less terrifying for a small child to witness, Augusta considered bringing Lydon to meet his father. A gentle reservation in place only due to how exhausted Jonathan appeared from the simple act of dressing himself. 

The sedative would kick in before long and Augusta did not want Lydon’s first meeting with Jonathan, his first memory, to be that of his father high in pain and muddled of mind. 

It could wait a little longer. 

There were things to speak about and settle before Augusta sprung the news that Jonathan was a father. 

Did Jonathan even know that he had a son? 

His mother knew. Though a part of Augusta suspected it was due to a maternal instinct that she figured out who the father of the child Augusta arrived carrying was. 

Watching quietly while Jonathan found a comfortable position to lay down, Augusta bit back a smile when he admitted in a little slur that he was getting too old for the hardships of life. 

Jonathan was thirty-six, but at times, he appeared ten years older. The stresses and arduously suffered life he lived took its toll some days, and still, on occasion, a light of youthfulness returned to his eyes, to his smile. 

Augusta hoped that Jonathan would find it again when she introduced Lydon to him. That Jonathan would not be bitter or resentful at all. 

There was a chance that Jonathan would be, and Augusta already knew why. 

Lydon would have to live in the shadows, in the silence, as the unknown and the forgotten if he was to survive the Empire. 

It was not an existence for any man or woman, and Augusta never wanted it for her son. 

Which was why it was so important to learn all that Augusta could. To load up her arsenal for the fight she was going to face to start rocking the boat, to try and make a change in a system that would sooner kill Augusta than hear a word from her mouth. 

Truthfully, Augusta was terrified of what she was going to learn. 

Brushing the surface of lies was only the start, and already Augusta felt her feet growing cold and wanting to run. 

“Jonathan?” Augusta spoke softly, waiting to find out if the deep breathing was from his being asleep. 

Eyes closed and arms resting loosely on his chest, Jonathan’s brow creased as he mumbled: “What?”

It wouldn’t be long until Jonathan was asleep. The depths of his breathing only growing deeper and Augusta’s time short of asking the question she needed to have an answer to. 

“What do you think of the name Lydon?” Augusta approached the matter of their son in a roundabout manner, fingers nervous and picking at the hem of her dress, she waited. 

For a spell, it looked as though Jonathan was finally asleep. Augusta even believed that he was by how low and slow his breathing was. 

“I...it’s Irish in origin,” Jonathan murmured, the gentle slur making his speech seems unsure. “I considered naming a son if I ever had one Lydon when I was younger.” He remained in an almost mumble, though he became a little more aware and awake when he asked: “Where did you learn it?” 

At the question, Augusta smiled fondly at the memory of the old man who not only cared for Augusta but kept her company for the years she was away. 

“I met an old man in Trier. He told me that he was from Ireland, and about the name Lydon.” Augusta chose her words carefully so as not to admit too soon why she was asking. 

Jonathan remained silent for a while longer before letting his arms slip from his chest, laying his hands flat to it. “Trier?” He asked with a small tremor to his voice. 

Augusta hummed agreement, glancing over Jonathan when his breathing became a little more rapid, and his eyes opened, fixed on the ceiling. “By the coastline?” He asked, swallowing soon after. 

Augusta shifted on the crate. “Yes.” 

Jonathan again closed his eyes, his breathing shaking as his fingers curled into tight fists, and for just a second Augusta thought he was angry. 

The thought vanished when Jonathan choked out a sobbing laugh, a confused grin on his face; he quickly turned his head to face the wall. 

“I think you might have met m’ da.” Jonathan laughed, acting terribly to seem nonchalant. “Didn’t even know he was still there...mam will be happy I...shit.” He stopped talking, rolling completely on his side before asking: “Can you leave me a minute?” 

Sitting in a state of shock, recalling that the old man mentioned his youngest son was called Jonathan, and that he wasn’t sure where he was, Augusta’s heart quivered when Jonathan tried to hide that he was upset. 

Could the man have known that Augusta was carrying Jonathan’s son, and that was why he suggested the name, Lydon? 

It was a stretch of impossibility, but somehow, Augusta found a strange feeling of solace within the idea that her chance meeting with the man who fathered Jonathan and who remembered the name Jonathan dearly wanted for a son was by no mistake, but fate. 

The thought of it was sweet and showed how boundless a father could love his children. Remembering something so small like a name could mean so much more than anyone truly gave a thought. 

Standing when Jonathan asked to be alone, Augusta didn’t push to keep him company. To stay while he sorted through unresolved emotions and thoughts. Augusta respected that Jonathan was not open so that he would allow much insight into his thinking. 

“Get some rest,” Augusta asked while stepping out of the makeshift hospital room, leaving Jonathan to figure out his own head since learning that his father was alive and well. 

Walking back up the rickety gangplank to the hidden room, Augusta found it no less busy but certainly quieter. 

Many were asleep in makeshift cots, and some sat in huddles at tables playing cards by candlelight. 

Among them was Lydon with his grandmother, sitting on her lap and engrossed by soft, lilting voice as she sang hymns in a language spoken only by a few. 

It was heartwarming, a breath of freshness and clarity that the choices Augusta took in the last two years were the right ones. 

There was, however, the fury of the red-headed woman who spat on Augusta to contend with, and the woman was far from done. 

Standing in the middle of the room, the picture of a scorned woman, the ripple of rage in her green eyes bore the depth of a forest. 

Being the recipient of another woman’s ire more than once, Augusta felt this time would be different. 

A hand brushed Augusta’s shoulder, and she turned to the body it belonged but found only shadow and silhouette when the man leaned over to whisper in her ear. 

“Pay Felicity no mind.” The man spoke low, and Augusta came over nostalgic, her gut told her she knew this man, knew his voice. 

Again trying to hide and stay so, the man grabbed Augusta by the wrist when she tried to snatch away the cap that cast his face in shadow. 

“Not yet.” He warned. “Wait a little longer. Please?” He asked a little gentler, easing up his grip as he stepped backwards and away.

Still, in the sure hold of certainty over who the man was, Augusta chose to agree to his terms and wait a little longer. 

* * *


	32. To be a Mother

* * *

“Niamh?” 

After settling Lydon to bed, it left time for thinking. Questions about the world never knowing answers, Augusta was among a library of minds and people who could give her more than a petrified look. 

Niamh, Jonathan’s mother, offered the seat opposite with a warm and softly fatigued smile. “Come.” Her aged fingers tapped the table. “Sit with me a while.” She asked, pointing to a teapot. “I would like to know the young woman who has left my son a hopeless man.” A teasing smile roused when Augusta stumbled in pouring her tea. 

Gripping the lid of the teapot and keeping it from leaping away, Augusta drew a breath when Niamh began laughing. 

“Oh, child.” Niamh fanned a hand. “Forgive this old woman. I spent years worried that Jonathan would never experience the joys of love.” She sighed with a slump in her narrow shoulders, her years of mentioned worry showing in the lines of her face. “My boy called me for the first time in months after you were made to leave, and he has never sought my comfort since he was a child.” Eyes aglow under the candles, Niamh returned to her youth as she spoke of her son. 

Augusta paused before taking a sip of the tea as she listened to Niamh talk. Wallowing in her stomach leaving sickness when Niamh mentioned that Jonathan called her when Augusta was forcibly made to wed Otto. 

“I knew the moment I laid eyes on that sweet child in your arms, that he was the son of my son.” Niamh came closer to the table, one hand gripping Augusta’s. “It shocked me back thirty-six years to when Jonathan was born.” Her eyes fluttered, chasing away the little drips gathering in her eyes. “This old woman can die a happy one now. Thank you.” Her smile was tearful but bright and vibrant and full of love and life. 

Eyes flicking up to the warehouse's overhead beams to disguise that Augusta too was crying, a shaky, shuddery breath settled her. 

Seeing the pure unbridled joy, Lydon brought to Niamh was more than Augusta expected. It reminded Augusta painfully that her own father was yet to meet his grandson. The reality was that he likely never would. The less who knew about Lydon, the safer he would be. 

Lowering her eyes to the teacup in hand, Augusta sniffed back her tears and took a quiet sip. Savouring the bitter contrasted with the sweet. 

It was a little like life. The bitter within the sweet. Sweet within the bitter. 

“Does he know?” Niamh asked, looking over Augusta’s shoulder to where Lydon was happily wriggling in his blankets in a cot brought by one of the Silenced. “That he is a father.” She clarified. 

Glimpsing the shadowed gangway that led to where Jonathan was hopefully resting, a furrow settled in her brow. 

Felicity crept into the shadowed space after a furtive minute spent looking around the room. 

“Who...is Felicity?” Augusta asked - a little embarrassed to appear or come across jealous - without taking her eyes from the space Felicity vanished. 

Niamh squeezed Augusta’s hand, then patted it. Then slid back to her side of the table. 

“If you’re asking if there is history between them...,” Niamh thrummed her teacup, staring away and down the narrow space, they were sitting. “Then, yes.” A side-eye turned on Augusta. “Watch her closely.” Came the warning. “She will do what she can to ruin what you have with my son.” There was surprising strength in the soft lilting of her voice. A scathing, bitter tongue when speaking about Felicity. “That girl has been a cloud over my son since they met back home in Ireland.” A hand clenched to a tight fist, lips in a pucker. “She is a fraochÚn. A dirty, nasty little girl.” Niamh sat up with a sudden flare, wafting the air as if to brush away dirt.

Flummoxed by Niamh’s open animosity towards Felicity it left behind a slither of curiosity over what happened to create such a view.

All chance to ask ended when Niamh laughed off her angered disposition. “Look at me, acting the bitter old lady.” She touched her grey streaked hair, brushing back the loose wisps. “I am sure you have any questions.” Hazel eyes that turned to honey in the candlelight - exactly like Jonathan’s - fluttered.

Left breathless by the motherly way Niamh accepted Augusta with wide open arms when Augusta represented her oppression for many years, her heart fell into her stomach.

Never, not once, since Augusta was old enough to understand that her mother was not a feature in her life, did she find or meet a figure like a mother.

To find it in Niamh was a little too much so soon after reuniting with Jonathan, that Augusta didn’t even realise she was crying until Niamh was wrapping her arms around her.

Rocked gently, soothing Augusta as best she could, Niamh hushed her with a softly spoken: “Darling, all will be right.”

* * *


	33. Something Beautiful

* * *

Ushered to sleep soon after settling the tearful response of Niamh’s motherly ways, Augusta didn’t know how long it was since she slept. Truly slept without fear. Without waking dressed in sweat and a chill from a nightmare about Lydon being found and taken. 

Sleeping through the night without a single disturbance, Augusta only woke due to her body stirring awake. 

Met by the sight of overhead beams. Ropes hanging like garlands between. The warehouse was quieter and emptier than the hour Augusta arrived. 

Able to stay among the many sheets she slept under. To lay and listen to the soft snores and inhales of those who were still resting. The few who crept about being sure not to disturb the room. Lydon gurgling and cooing happily from his makeshift cot.

Awake but obviously entertained, Lydon allowed Augusta to restfully. 

Taking away the arm draped above her head, Augusta sat up from the bed, swinging her legs down as she pulled back the sheets, brushing back her hair. 

Slipping into her shoes, Augusta tied back her hair in a loose way. To keep it from Lydon’s grabbing and curious hands. Always trying to play with Augusta’s hair or eat it. 

Out of bed and a little fresher in mind and spirit, Augusta twisted to where Lydon should have been and stopped. 

Out of the crib, Lydon was attempting to run. Feet unsteady and wobbly but determined, Lydon made only a few charged steps before stopping. Clapping his hands and laughing, a slightly drooling smile bright as the summers sun for the person who sat a short way from him, waiting and arms open.

Jonathan was out of bed and sitting, waiting open-armed and smiling.

Smiling wholesomely and absent his burdens and woes. The deep bruising hidden beneath his shirt, not even creating a single crease or frown or wince when Lydon giggled and ran into his waiting arms. 

Embraced like there was no aching skin beneath, Jonathan’s eyes were aglow. Youthful. Alive. No longer the image of a man worn down by the world but a fresh-faced man who discovered the joys life could gift in the form of a child. A son. His son. 

Clutching her stomach when the butterflies broke free. Filling her chest, fluttering soft and sweet for the sight she woke to see, Augusta bit on her lip, but her smile was stronger than her bite. 

Jonathan looked up when Lydon made a grabbing motion with his tiny hands. A beamed: “Mama!” Coming in an excited cry, Lydon held up his arms, wanting to be picked up. 

Impossible to deny Lydon, spoiling the small boy with her love for him, Augusta was slow in her approaching - not wanting to be selfish and take a moment from Jonathan. 

Pausing when Jonathan took a safe hold on Lydon and got on his feet, Augusta found herself swept in by a sudden but careful pull on the blouse she was wearing. 

Jonathan came forward. And with a slight crash of their mouths, he pushed her closer with a hand on the small of her back. 

Lydon’s small: “Blurgh!” The only reason the kiss became a short laughing from them both; they stayed upon the lips of the other. Augusta placed an arm around Jonathan and one on Lydon’s back between soft smiles and gentler kisses. 

They were only a small family. A little broken and born worlds apart. With hiccups between the place, they were standing. But this was Augusta’s family. Her home and her heart were within this man, and the small boy they shared. 

Jonathan broke away only to murmur: “I don’t do this romantic thing. It’s not me.” A small frown creased his brow. “But I am going to make an exception this once, ok?” He crooked a single eyebrow, waiting for Augusta to finish grinning and nod back. 

“I thought you were going to be the best thing I got in this hell,” Jonathan mumbled, a flush of colour taking his skin to a warmer shade. “You just had to go and prove me wrong though, and make it that much better.” He looked over Lydon, his smile wobbling and threatening to become more tearful. “I made something. You made something so beautiful this world will never deserve, and I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am that we have him. That I have you both.” 

Holding a little tighter to Jonathan, sure that she would never hear words like it from him again and wanting to savour each one, Augusta could only smile when he grumbled over becoming sappy. Still, he ended his little moment with a whispered: “Until my last moments on this earth, I will love you.” 

* * *


	34. Voices unheard

All semblance encountered upon waking and discovering Jonathan and Lydon bonding was lost in the arrival of a single woman. 

Felicity. 

The calmness of the warehouse was stirred and stoked by Felicity’s whispering in the ears of many. Seeding and watering fresh sprouting distrust and unease for Augusta’s presence among them. 

Something which Augusta remained blithely unaware until a single man spoke up for the others. 

“It shouldn’t be here. It is not one of us.” The man gesticulated with a hard-worked rough skinned hand to Augusta. A comment that rallied slurs and jeers of concurrence from others as he paced about the platform he created for himself to speak. “It knows nothing of what we have suffered. Why is it here?!” His tenor grew stronger, his sentiment or lack of for Augusta growing in volume. 

Subjected to looks of disgust and anger, Augusta was pinned to the spot. To be degraded to an object and not a person. Stripped of her identity in the eyes of those who did not believe she held any right to stand among them, was eye opening. 

Was this how they felt everyday. A thing rather than a person? 

Far from alone, Niamh stood close by, her fiery personality one that would clearly not take a moment of respite in the face of adversity, Augusta could not find a single word to speak to allay their concerns. 

At least, Augusta believed she didn’t know how to speak until a single person brought up her marriage to Ludwig. 

The scars of her time with Ludwig were still raw. Open. Weeping and blistered. 

“How fortunate you are never to know the prison I lived within.” Augusta cut above the din of those who continued to berate and strike with their words. “If you think I lived in the lap of luxury whilst I was married to Ludwig Von Trapp then you are the fools society has deemed you to be.” Crept out coldly; shocking even Augusta. 

Met with the ugly reality of how people perceived Augusta and those who were born pure, she reasoned for a time that she held no ground to fight back on their beliefs. 

Even then as they stared back with shock and unfiltered hate. How they lashed with their tongues upon Augusta’s life until the moment she was free of Ludwig Von Trapp, Augusta felt guilty for speaking up, for standing her ground. 

“Fools?!” One woman spat. “Who the fuck do you think you are!” She demanded. 

Augusta took the scathing comment in a way she never expected. 

Who was she? 

Who Augusta was before was not the same young woman who now stood facing the long oppressed people of a brutal regime. 

Niamh had fallen silent when Augusta spoke in her own defence. The fire in her lungs extinguished and left to be a puttering flame in her eyes. A wary flame unsure of whether it was about to be put out for good. That the hope that kept it burning - a person who would bring change - was about to douse it in water and put it out for good. 

“Who am I?” Augusta repeated to herself. She was asking it of herself. 

The silence the woman’s outburst summoned was broken only by sharp breaths and creaks of the rotting beams above. Augusta could hear her own heart beating in her chest. It was racing and panicked for the outcome of the speech she was about to make. 

“I am no one. Not to you.” Augusta lifted her head, relaxed her body, her hands from their clenched and sweaty fists. “Not anyone of significance or importance except a woman with the power to change everything.” She surmised who she was with confidence and determination. 

There were short inhales and snickers from the gathered who swarmed Augusta. Eye rolls and hands waved to brush off her claims. 

Augusta paid them no mind. Words alone would not convince them. Actions spoke in place of empty letters strung together in pretty sentences. Acting as mirages and distraction. 

“I don’t expect you to believe in my words.” Augusta agreed with their sentiments, accepted that she would not have their trust and faith with them alone. “Which is why I will ask you to trust in my actions.” She stood a little taller, a little more sure. “Deem me what you wish. Blame me for things I have never questioned and accepted. If that will make your guilt for your own inaction seem less burdensome.” She didn’t smile when the insult made was received as expected; furiously. 

“Nothing can change until you take the steps to make a change.” Augusta told them. Raising her voice to be heard above their slurs and threats. “I learnt that very lesson the hard way. Enduring the physical, emotional and sexual abuse of a man I was forced to marry for over a year.” She exposed the scars left by Ludwig a little more. “No one was coming to my rescue. So I had to save myself.” 

Augusta may have asked her father for his help, but it took Augusta finally asking for it, for things to change. Even the anonymous man behind the letters supposed interference would have come to nothing without Augusta finally reaching out a hand and making it possible. 

The suffering of those before Augusta would not end by will and want alone. Someone needed to step forward and take the first step. Even if that first step came with sacrifice. 

Augusta’s sacrifice was the life of her child to be free of Ludwig. Now, with Lydon every step and sacrifice she made was for his future. To have a chance at life without oppression. Even if Augusta’s life was the price to pay. 

It was not a cost Augusta wanted, but an inevitable possibility she would need to accept. 

Seeing how easily Felicity influenced the minds of those around her it became clear over the minutes spent facing those who were opposed to Augusta’s presence that staying in the warehouse would not be an option. 

There was no safety within the crumbling building. There was less beyond it. But if Augusta wanted a future for Lydon, for Jonathan and herself, then risks would have to be undertaken. 

Which meant Augusta would have to somehow convince Otto that Lydon was his son. 

Blessed that at the moment of being confronted Lydon was not around, but with Jonathan, it was the abrupt shaking of Niamh’s head, her finger protruded and stabbing in Augusta’s face with a fiery. “No! You will not do this!” With such vicious determination that let Augusta know Niamh figured out her plan. 

“I am not safe here.” Augusta presented her case. “Anymore than I am out there.” She confessed with the harrowing reality of the truth in her statement that came after. “Which means neither is my son.” 

Niamh drew in a sharp breath that left her lips in a pucker. The stabbing finger curled back to make a fist. 

Warned only briefly of the trouble Felicity could bring, Augusta never envisioned she would be spiteful enough to separate a recently united father and son. 

“I can’t stay.” Augusta took Niamh’s hand, trying to soften and relax the angered trembling in her fist. “I am not welcome here. And I can’t stay in hiding forever.” The truth was always a painful thing, and none more so than right then. 

Niamh relaxed her fingers to grip Augusta’s, drawing them closer together until their foreheads bumped. 

“Don’t leave my son a heartbroken man.” Niamh whispered. Demanded. “Or my grandchild without his mother.” Came in a pleading quiver. 

Never knowing the love a mother could give, Augusta found her breath choked in a lump again in her throat when Niamh turned her motherly affections on her. 

“I won’t.” Augusta breathed after a second needing to fight down the lump in her throat. “I promise. I will break this Reich der Stille.” She vowed with the same determination she saw the fire reignite in Niamh’s eyes with. 

Augusta held the voice of the silenced. The power to make them be heard. The will to bring about a change that would see a day where her son could walk safely in the sun. 

Someone had to make the change, and Augusta knew all it needed was for someone to take the first step. 

Even if it could be their last. 


	35. Into the Mist

The wrought iron gates of the Von Trapp estate loomed ahead. The steady passage of the saloon car becoming a crawling pace in its approaching.

On either side of the gates and almost blended into the cold stone pillars of the walls two guards stood. The sharp rune SS on the collars of their jackets marking them as members of the Schutzstaffel.

Augusta’s fingers clawed at the skirt that covered her legs. Nerves battling to take control over the steady calm she spent the drive building. It was not aided by the stark look turned on Augusta by one of the uniformed men sitting in the front passenger seat.

The driver used the rear view mirror to make his thoughts on Augusta’s sudden shaken state known.

Both men were the very men who first delivered Augusta to Jonathan’s doorstep over two years ago.

Not once did Augusta believe them anything more than lapdogs of the Empire and its regime. So it was eye opening to learn they too were members of the Silenced.

"I am fine." Augusta lied with conviction. Giving the men what she hoped was a convincing face that she was indeed fine as she professed.

Each man kept a lingering eye on Augusta even as the car crept forward before being ordered to stop by one of the guards who stepped forward. One hand held out, the second on the strap of the rifle on his shoulder.

The second guard kept watch from his post as the first approached the drivers side. The window winding down and allowing in a waft of fresh air. Augusta breathed it in deep.

"We have our elusive Princess.” Daniel, the driver, addressed the guard before he could open his mouth to ask for the reason behind their being there. 

Reminded painfully about why Augusta was there when the guard peered through the window and locked eyes on Lydon sitting beside her with a great deal of curiosity, she was reminded to keep her nerves by the tapping of the man in the front passenger seat on his leg. 

The guard pulled his head out the car with a slow and capricious laughter. Tapping the hood of the car before signalling for the gates to open. 

The clanking of the metal. The scraping over the leaf littered concrete came to Augusta like a set of chains being clamped upon her wrists again. Returning to her sentence of being the wife of a man she did not want or love, but would have to pretend that she did. 

Otto was not Ludwig, but he was no saint either. 

Lydon was excited in his curiosity. So blissfully unawares of the dangers ahead of them both. Of how fragile his life hang on the balance of Augusta being able to convince Otto that Lydon was his son. 

Augusta could not fail. It was not an option, and even so doubt crept over her skin like thousands of ants eating away at her courage and confidence. It ate away faster when Augusta glimpsed beyond the corner of the drive way and she could see that her arrival was expectedly being waited for. 

Otto was not alone for the receptions Augusta was about to receive. There was a scattering of the grim Gestapo uniforms who flanked him. Eyes beady and rat like upon the car as it came to a stop, and Daniel stepped out. 

The sharp click of Daniel’s salute and his strong “Heil Hitler.” So admirably convincing it shocked Augusta when the men gathered on the steps returned it with vigour. 

The second man who accompanied Augusta on the drive, Andy, took the opportunity to turn in his seat and whisper: “Remember what is at stake.” With a look at Lydon before the door was opened, and Augusta could hide no longer. 

Accepting the offer of Daniel’s leather gloved hand to step out of the car, Augusta didn’t have any more time to prepare. It was now or never. The greatest hurdle Augusta would ever face was coming up without the option to back up. 

Hair no longer lightened to a blond hue but returned to its darker shade, Augusta hid that she also cut it by placing it in a regal fashion. Dressed again in the high end couture she was expected to wear, and again in heeled shoes, Augusta knew that she needed to present herself as she was always known to look. 

Perfect and never a hair out of place. Lydon too was dressed in a smart shirt and trousers with little braces and polished shoes. His dark hair parted and gelled neatly. 

Climbing out a second after Augusta departed the car, Lydon clung to the back of her coat. Hiding. 

Lydon’s presence was not missed. Not by how the men of the Gestapo peered around Augusta to the small child who came over shy at their presence. 

“Well.” One spoke up. “This was unprecedented.” He mused darkly. Letting Augusta know he was already suspicious of Lydon’s paternity. 

Otto, on the other hand, seemed to pay Lydon no mind. Instead focused on Augusta with a piercing stare. 

Being put under trial and questioning without chance of explaining herself was the method expected to be used, and Augusta was not disappointed that her guess proved true. 

Coming off the steps a harsh faced man stood no more than a few paces from Augusta and demanded: “Explain yourself.” 

Placing a hand on Lydon’s head, Augusta breathed finally when she looked down upon his hopeful, carefree smile. 

“In light of my treatment at the hands of Ludwig after the discovering of my first pregnancy, I felt unsafe in the hands of the very same people who turned a blind eye to his abuse even with my delicate position.” Augusta didn’t miss a beat to lay all blame for her vanishing upon the Von Trapp family. “We all know how that ended.” She swallowed hard, refusing the tremor the memory she spoke of to take hold on her voice. “So to ensure the safe arrival of my second I took it upon myself to go into hiding until his arrival.” She looked the harsh faced man dead in the eye. “It’s harder to make a toddler disappear than it is a newborn baby.” She threw out the accusation and belief that she suspected harm would come to Lydon at his birth. 

The accusations and cold reminder of what happened under Ludwig did as hoped. They could not meet Augusta’s eye. Shame made them look anywhere but at her. 

Except for Otto who was finally looking at Lydon. Studying him. Looking for any cause or reason to doubt his paternity. 

It was a blessing in disguise that both Otto and Jonathan were dark haired and eyed. That Lydon bared Augusta’s features more openly than Jonathan’s. 

“Would you be willing to do a paternity test?” The harsh faced man almost snickered out the question. Like he expected Augusta to refuse outright. To stumble at the second hurdle she faced. 

Augusta was far more prepared than even she knew when Daniel took a forward step. One hand on the inside pocket of his uniform. 

“If I may interrupt,” Daniel spoke up but didn’t actually wait to know if he was permitted to speak. “Such a suspicion was raised when he located the Princess.” He pulled out a folded page. “The child was tested and his paternity confirmed.” He presented the paper, with a blunt statement. 

The man who was questioning Augusta snatched the page from Daniel with an excited smile. 

Augusta’s heart was pounding. Left completely unaware of this part of the planning, she was left in a suspenseful moment believing she was about to be betrayed. 

Augusta held no reasons to actually hold trust in Daniel and Andy. Other than their words. It could all well be a carefully orchestrated setup to out Augusta intentions to take down the Empire and expose those who also wished to see it fall. 

Time passed so slowly whilst the man examined the page. His face giving no clue as to what was written. Whether or not it was a tool to better sell the idea Lydon was Otto’s or the truth. 

Without any clue what was to come, Augusta could tell her breathing was becoming ragged. 

There was nowhere to run or hide. No knight in shining armour was about to arrive to spare Lydon if it was confirmed that he was Jonathan’s son. 

The Gestapo officer lifted the page to hide his face and refused to speak a word while he read. 

Augusta could see that each man of her reception was armed. Knew that every single one of them would fire their weapons when ordered. 

And Augusta could do nothing if such an order came. 

Lydon clung to Augusta’s fingers. She held them tightly back. Fearful that it was about to be the last time she felt the tiny hand wrapped around her fingers. 

“Hmm.” The Officer breathed, folding down the paper and handing it over to Otto. Eyes still beady and rat like on Augusta even when the page was ripped from his fingers.

Otto scoured the page. Eyes darting back and forth until it was crumpled up into his clenched fist.

Unlike Ludwig, Otto was harder to read. More controlled in his visage than his twin ever was it made Otto a terrifying man to behold. His temper much more resilient but exponentially brutal when unleashed. He was unpredictable, and so hard to navigate.

So it was the injection of hurt in the edges of Otto’s stoic face that created an even warier state in Augusta.

Did the paper show the truth of who Lydon’s father was?

Was Otto somehow hurt by Augusta’s efforts to lie and try and convince Otto that Lydon was his?

“I think I need to have a conversation with my wife.” Otto addressed the Gestapo officers, stuffing the hand with the crumpled paper in a pocket. “Alone.” He demanded.

The man who stepped forward to question Augusta twisted about to rebut Otto’s demand.

Otto barely let him take a breath let alone present an argument before he ground out.

“You would do well to remember who you’re questioning.” Otto bore no emotion other than a sure warning that if he was not listened to, things would not end well for the men standing on his property. Gestapo or not.

It left Augusta in much less of an anxious state but certainly no less warier.

“As you wish, SS-Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer.” The man addressed Otto, and as he did, Augusta felt her heart plummet.

Otto was the highest ranking Schutzstaffel officer. Only Heinrich Himmler was above Otto in the command of the Schutzstaffel.

Unsure how it was impossible to go so long without knowing what position Otto held, Augusta turned a fleeting panicked look upon Daniel. Only to find no solace when Daniel returned a white faced stare.

How were they to proceed when not even they knew who their enemies were?


	36. Unmasked

Augusta never believed a day would come where she wanted the Gestapo to stay. Left alone with Otto in the forty eight bed castle, Augusta knew from her time living with Ludwig that screaming would go unheard. That the staff of the Von Trapp castle would turn a blind eye and say nothing if Otto intended harm. 

Over a year prior Augusta would never believe that he would be capable, but now, walking in Otto’s shadow, she wasn’t so sure. 

There was a violent silence that permeated Otto. The severe pinch between his broad shoulders turning his whole demeanour stuff. Angry. A slow tremor running through Otto only stopped by the clench of his hands. Creating fists. 

Every step of their shoes echoed through the desolate stone halls that Otto led them through. Augusta knew the castle well enough to know where Otto was taking them. 

They walked past the paintings of the Von Trapp’s ancestors. Of valiant hunts. Large canopy’s hung from the ceiling, emboldened with the Swastika and Reichsadler in the open spaces between. 

The mid-morning light lit everywhere in a soft blue hue. A depressing tone on top of the dread-filled atmosphere of the castle only added to Augusta’s growing concerns. 

The drapes of the German Empire reminded Augusta painfully where Otto’s loyalty lay and that she would find no ally within him. Otto’s position within the Schutzstaffel was proof enough that he approved the machinations of the Empire. That he partook in them. 

Augusta knew there would be no sweet reunion in one of the six parlours. No time spent in conversation in comfier surroundings, Otto was taking Augusta and Lydon towards the dungeons. 

A large, dank space beneath the Von Trapp castle that Augusta was forced to spend many a night and day when she was wed to Ludwig and her presence infuriated him. 

Augusta could still feel the cold rusted shackles around her wrists and neck. 

It was a detail Augusta never spoke about. The burning humiliation of being forced to beg Ludwig to be released was a memory best never revisited. 

So it was with great anxiety and dread that Augusta paused at the top of the winding stone staircase. The grip on Lydon’s little fingers quivering and sweaty, but tight. 

A little too tight. Lydon became distressed and fidgety due to Augusta’s shaking state. A small gulp of air reminding Augusta that he was a small child. That it was supposed to be Augusta protecting Lydon and not the other way around in seeking comfort and support. 

Augusta could not hide behind anyone. 

Augusta needed to be the shield for Lydon and whatever was to come. 

Otto’s silent aura was not knew, but the aggressive pinch in his brow and twist of his mouth when he turned around left Augusta wishing he was speaking. 

Standing in the narrow passage empty of decorations beyond the grim grey walls, Otto appeared larger in the small space. The mouth of the winding steps that led to the dungeon was almost swallowed by Otto’s heavy set frame. 

Short of breath, Augusta couldn’t look away from Otto’s stare. The dark brown of his eyes appearing black in the lightless backdrop, he didn’t blink once since turning around. 

The din of Augusta’s heart drowned out the short and sharp breaths she was taking when a set of sharp and urgent steps started to catch up with them. 

Someone was almost running to find them, and Augusta could sense their panic. It doubled with Augusta’s until it burst with the abrupt shout of the rushing man. 

“SS-Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer!” The shout echoed with such force that it came with the same bark of a gun being fired. “An assassination attempt has been made on the Fuhrer!” He relayed the reason behind his urgent state, openly breathless from his rush to reach Otto. 

At the moment the Fuhrer was mentioned, Otto snapped his endless staring away from Augusta to look over her head to the man who shouted. 

“The Fuhrer?” Otto demanded, stepping forward. Shouldering past Augusta. Though she was already flat to the wall, Otto’s sharp movement still collided with her. 

The SS officer who unknowingly spared Augusta chose to converse with Otto in whispers. The shock of the news someone attempted to kill Hitler overriding Augusta’s panicking, she strained to hear even a snippet of what they were speaking about. 

Beyond hushes and growling, Augusta was unable to pick out a single piece of information. 

Was Hitler wounded grievously? 

Peering down at Lydon to check his agitated state, Augusta barely glimpsed his little face before she jumped at Otto’s sudden shout that he was leaving. 

Thinking that Augusta dodged Otto’s planning, it was discarded when he spared a moment to turn on her and through gritted teeth, warned: “Stay here.” 

Otto didn’t speak the actual warning, but his tone and the look in his eyes was enough for Augusta to know better than to try and leave. 

So Augusta nodded. Promised without a word that she would stay within the castle. 

Otto lingered a second longer. Studying Augusta until he appeared satisfied that she would keep her word, before he pushed off back down the hallway with determined strides. 

It wasn’t until Otto was out of sight that Augusta realised she had stopped breathing. A large breath was taken in a rush, and as she tasted the air she bent to pick Lydon up. To bring him close and hold him. 

Lydon’s innocence was so pure that he giggled and gurgled. Wholly unaware of the potential danger that loomed over them. 

Gazing on Lydon’s bright smile that always held a little bit of drooling, Augusta reminded herself that she needed to hold herself together. If not for her own sake, but Lydon’s. 

Carefully stroking through Lydon’s hair, Augusta managed a shaky smile when Lydon poked at her cheeks; like he wanted her to smile. 

So enraptured by Lydon’s light, Augusta missed that she was not alone with her son. 

An upwards look confirmed it was not the SS officer who rushed to find Otto but a face Augusta had seen a thousand times before, but as of that moment, appeared like a stranger. 

No longer baring hair the colour of autumn leaves with eyes the greens of a forest, Florence was dark haired and even darker eyed. 

It was a startling contrast and somehow, eerily like looking at a mirror. A sense of familiarity washed over Augusta. A hazy memory of seeing the woman standing in front of her with a quiet intensity. 

“Flor—?” Augusta started to whisper the woman’s name. Only to be cut off when she shook her head and with a smile beautiful but snide, she put a finger to her lips, asking for Augusta to be quiet. 

“I don’t have long to make this all clear,” She whispered, baring a tone of wariness of being overheard, for that matter seen by how she hid among the shadows of the hanging cloth Swastika. Almost like she had been hiding behind it, hiding her time before revealing herself. 

Augusta was confused. Deeply. What did Florence not have time to explain? 

Whatever it was, Augusta was not prepared for the next few words that came from Florence’s mouth. 

“You’ve grown up so much.” There was a soft warble in her voice, like she was trying to hold back tears. 

Bemused by the comment, considering Florence had known Augusta since she was a child, she took a small step back. Shielding Lydon. 

“You’re going to have a lot of questions. I will answer them all soon.” She whispered. “You’re no longer so blinded to this world, and I wish you could remain so, but your father was so insistent that you would be the one that could end this hell we have all been living.” She babbled almost excitedly but saddened at the same time. 

Though the mention of Augusta’s father in correlation to his belief that she would be the one to bring change started an odd guy wrenching sensation. Like Augusta knew what was coming. A part of her having known it all along. Even though Augusta was not aware of it consciously. 

With a shaking hand placed to her lips, the woman who Augusta spent the last nineteen years acting as a close companion and confidante, let the hand fall to display the warm, mother like smile she had always wanted to know. 

“I am your mother.” She laughed at the final word, a sudden burst of nerves making her previously unshakeable confidence shatter. “I am not Florence Haines. I never have been.” She garbled a little. Rushing to speak in either her excitement or her nervousness.

Augusta was trying to process the words. To feel something other than a burst of anger. To speak. Though Augusta did not want it to be a snapped: “Then who are you?!”

The woman who claimed to be Augusta’s mother took the question in her stride. Her smile oddly growing more sure and pleasant by the show of Augusta’s absent meek demeanour.

“Lina.” She answered. “Lina Battenberg.”


	37. The Sacrifices We Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/2jyjhRf6DVbMPU5zxagN2h?si=D18O6wR5SXyu8S-NKIgbiw

_~~Prinz~~ _

_My dearest, Augusta,_

_I suppose I have no other option but to come clean and drop the mirage we have spent the last nineteen years decorating._

_Your mother’s stubbornness is something I could only subdue for so long. Time is precious and far too short to be wasted any longer on lies and secrets._

_You have questions I know, and I will do my best to answer them in this letter before we meet again._

_No longer as familiar people, but as father and daughter._

_To begin I suppose I must first answer a question you would ask so many times as a child when you would visit._

_Where is Lydia?_

_The little girl who’s face smiled so wonderful and bright. Immortal in the still images captured of her in her youth._

_We told you she was always at a friends or away at boarding school._

_That, was always the hardest lie I would ever tell you in the years I watched you growing._

_Lydia, was your older half sister. Born nineteen years before you came into this world._

_The night you were born was both the greatest and single most agonising moment in the years I have lived._

_That night I was gifted a daughter but at the cost of my first born child._

_Lydia was scared of the future that was to come. The terror of what was to be, already witnessed across the world as the enemy approached, and, I guess, it was an act of mercy upon herself that she chose to leave this hell we live by her own hand. To go at her own decision over the cruel demise she might have faced by our enemies._

_Lydia’s self sacrifice was not in vain. Not when it allowed you to live._

_See, your mother was a threat to the growing Empire you see today. She could sway many to her side. To support her in the last efforts of resistance we mounted in the year leading up to your birth._

_The Empire wanted your mother dead. You too._

_So, in our final moments, when we knew that continuing the fight would do no more than bring more death and misery, when you were barely minutes old, I made the hardest choice a father could possibly ever make._

_In exchange for your life, I would take your mothers. Those were the conditions laid down to me in those final hours._

_I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the life of the woman who had given me the blessed gift that you are._

_So I did the unthinkable. A choice that still haunts me to this day._

_Lydia was disguised as your mother. The shot taken making her face unrecognisable. They accepted Lydia’s body as your mothers all because of the state of grief I brought her to them._

_But their torment of our agony was not quite over. They held one further stipulation that was to be met even as I laid the body of my first born at their feet._

_I was not allowed to raise you. We, your mother and I, were not allowed to keep you._

_Instead, we were ordered to hand you over to Richard, your grandfather, for him to raise as his own child._

_There was no other option, but it was the kindest outcome we could achieve for you. We knew Richard would take great care of you. And he has._

_He has done as brilliantly by you as he did your mother. Thankfully you did not inherit your mothers wild spirit and reckless ways. Though I still struggle to understand how Richard achieved it._

_As for the identity your mother has used to hide all these years. I know I must be completely honest with you and digress that I was not always an honest man._

_I met your mother whilst I was married to Lydia’s mother, Florence._

_I loved her truly and deeply, but I fell irrevocably for your mother when we met. I was dishonest and, I suppose, cruel to Florence to engage in an affair whilst she still held the very same love for me as the day we met._

_I was a weak man in those years, and I could not keep from your mother._

_Florence was a wonderful woman and a brilliant mother to Lydia, but, her health started to fail during the war that led to this Empire rising._

_During those years the documentation of people passing was poor and often lost. But the knowledge that I was married and the paper to prove it somehow remained._

_So, as you now know, your mother adopted Florence’s identity. To stay close and be as close as she was allowed to you. To watch over you as best she could these last nineteen years._

_I don’t expect any less than your anger when we do finally meet. I don’t even know if you will accept my presence when I do come to see you._

_I don’t expect forgiveness for all that we have lied about since the night you were born. All I can ask is that you understand that everything we have done was for you._

_To see you grow and thrive in a world so determined to break all that is kind and innocent._

_Now, now as you’re a mother yourself, I believe you will better understand the sacrifices parents make to see their children not only thrive, but to survive this world._

_I know I have placed upon you so much. Asked so much of you to become the voice of millions who no longer have them. That I put an unfair task within your gentle, fragile hands. But we can not go on in this Reich der Stille any longer, and change must come._

_As I have watched you navigate this world, I became more sure that it would be you, not me, not your mother, but you who will bring down this Empire that has taken more than I could ever tell you. That you will be the beacon of light in this abyss of darkness we have lived._

_You are not alone. You never have been. There are many who might stumble before they walk beside you, but you have inherited the greatest part of your mother._

_Her impenetrable will._

_You bear that same determination that she does. I could see it in your eyes every time we met. The will to survive. To make not the best out of a bad situation, but to bring change to make it better as a whole._

_Where we have failed. You will succeed. I have never been so sure of my words than as I write these._

_With love, and endless pride, as your father,_

_A B Haines_


End file.
